A glimpse of ordinary life before the mystery unfolds.
These journal entries are fiction inspired by the world of the novels. They are not historical documents.
“Father says the eastern fence will not survive another winter. He has said this for three winters, yet today he finally allowed me to help replace it...”
Fictional preview excerpt. More entries are coming.
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More voices, including Leonarde and Antoine, will be added as the archive grows.
The bread rose slowly today. I left it near the warmth and went about the work that always waits: water to carry, linen to mend, a meal to prepare. From the doorway I could see the light changing on the stones.
It is strange how much a house can hold without speaking. A familiar footstep. A question left unasked. The small comfort of setting another place at the table.
New fictional vignette written for this website. Not a historical document or an excerpt from the novel.
There is a stone near the edge of the field that has been there longer than I can remember. Each year the earth settles around it, and each year I mean to move it. I never do.
A man may believe he has left a name behind. Then someone speaks it, and the years between are suddenly very thin.
New fictional vignette written for this website. Not a historical document or an excerpt from the novel.
Explore the Simard family’s imagined world through journal entries and scenes from their everyday lives.
Explore the work, gatherings, and quiet moments that bring the world of the journals to life. Select an image to see it larger.
Showing all 31 entries
We cut hay until the heat made even the insects quiet. My son insisted upon carrying a fork nearly as tall as himself. He managed three good turns before catching his sleeve and falling backward into the windrow. Leonarde laughed until she was forced to sit down. The boy rose with grass in his hair and demanded another attempt. I hope he keeps that stubbornness. I also hope he learns where to place his feet.
Marsault Simard
The smell of bread reached me before I opened the door. Leonarde stood at the oven with flour on her sleeves, while the children waited at the table as if patience might make the loaves cool sooner. Our youngest asked whether the smallest one belonged entirely to him. Leonarde said it did, provided he could first explain why his brother and sister should go hungry. He considered the matter and broke it into three pieces.
Marsault Simard
Father took the boy into the vines today and showed him how to lift a cluster without bruising the fruit. The child watched so closely that he forgot the grapes in his own hand until one rolled into his boot. Father laughed, a sound I do not hear often enough. They returned with less fruit than I expected and more stains than Leonarde wished to see.
Marsault Simard
I sent my son to market with a short list and a long warning to keep hold of the money. He came home with everything we needed and a story about a musician in the square who could make a hen follow him. I asked whether the hen belonged to the musician. He said he had not thought to ask. There are questions a boy considers more important than his father does.
Marsault Simard
We had more people at supper than places prepared for them. Leonarde found another bowl, and someone fetched a stool from the corner. The dog stationed himself beneath the table and received more kindness than he had earned. There was talk over talk, and no one heard the whole of any story. I think that is a good way to spend an evening.
Marsault Simard
I worked the stone until my hands were white with dust. The first cut went badly, and I nearly blamed the tool before admitting the fault was mine. By afternoon the edge was straight enough to please me. My son asked whether stone grows tired of being struck. I told him I could not speak for the stone, but the man holding the hammer certainly does.
Marsault Simard
Leonarde planted herbs beside the door while I carried a basket of soil from the far side of the yard. She chose each place carefully, although to me one patch looked much like another. When I said so, she handed me a plant and asked me to choose. I put it where she had already pointed. Some lessons are best learned quickly.
Marsault Simard
The women gathered in the kitchen to prepare the vegetables, and for a time their voices rose above every other sound in the house. I entered to ask a question and was given a handful of beans to sort before anyone would answer me. I stayed long enough to finish them. The question can wait; I had forgotten how pleasant their laughter could be.
Marsault Simard
We turned the hay again today. The boy insisted he was stronger than he had been last week and set out to prove it with a fork too large for him. He managed better this time, though his neat row wandered considerably. Leonarde looked at his work and called it a fine beginning. He stood a little taller after that.
Marsault Simard
Leonarde and the others took the washing down to the river. The children went along to help and returned with wet sleeves and pockets full of stones. Our daughter chose one smooth enough to keep beside her bed. Her brother said his was better because it could be thrown farther. Their mother persuaded him to leave that particular discovery at the river.
Marsault Simard
There was a blade that needed sharpening, so I sat by the window and attended to it while the light lasted. My son asked if he might try. I gave him a piece of wood and let him practice holding it steady instead. He was disappointed, but he stayed beside me until the work was done, which may have been what he wanted all along.
Marsault Simard
The chickens escaped into the garden, and for a few moments the whole household was occupied in pursuing them. One bird slipped past me twice and appeared rather pleased with itself. The children laughed so hard they were of little use, though they insist they did most of the catching. We have mended the gate. I expect the hens are already studying it.
Marsault Simard
I found Leonarde standing by the window after the house had grown quiet. She was looking toward the town, though she did not say what had drawn her thoughts there. I stood beside her for a while, and we watched the last of the light leave the roofs. Not every silence needs a question to fill it.
Marsault Simard
Leonarde tied bundles of lavender in the yard while I brought in the last of it. The scent followed me into the house and stayed on my hands through supper. She said a little would be enough, but I noticed she kept every bundle I carried. I am learning that enough and welcome are not always the same thing.
Marsault Simard
We met neighbors after church, and what was meant to be a short walk home became a long exchange of news. The children found friends before we had gone ten paces. One fell asleep against my shoulder before we reached the house. I carried that small weight as carefully as if it were something that could never be replaced.
Marsault Simard
A loose tile brought rain into the house, so I climbed to the roof while my son held the ladder. He called up advice with great confidence, most of it concerning where I ought not to put my feet. When the tile was fixed, he announced that we had done well together. I agreed. A man on a roof is grateful for a boy who takes his task seriously.
Marsault Simard
Leonarde mended by the fire while I brought in wood for the evening. She found a tear in my sleeve that I had meant to show her and another I had hoped she would not notice. She asked how I had managed both in a single day. I told her the first story. The second can wait until she is in a forgiving mood.
Marsault Simard
Leonarde stopped to speak with an older neighbor on her way home. I saw them at the doorway, each holding the other there with one more piece of news. When she returned, she brought beans and a remedy for an ache I had not mentioned to anyone. It seems my silence has not kept the matter private.
Marsault Simard
My son helped me set a low wall in the yard. He wanted each stone to fit at once and was displeased when I made him lift one again. I showed him the gap beneath it and asked what rain might do there. He found a smaller stone to fill the space. By the end he was checking my work as carefully as I checked his.
Marsault Simard
Father stood among the vines as the sun went down, his hands resting on his stick. He stayed there longer than he needed to, looking toward the town. I did not call him in until the light had nearly gone. There are places a man knows so well that he may be looking at the years behind him as much as the ground before him.
Marsault Simard
Someone was caught tasting the fruit before the pot had come off the fire. I will not write his name here, though the women in the kitchen made certain everyone heard it. He fled with a grin and a spoon in his hand. Leonarde says we shall count the spoon before we count the fruit next time.
Marsault Simard
Leonarde and I stood outside at dusk and watched the birds gather along the roof. The day had left us both tired, but the children were indoors and the house was warm. We spoke of the work waiting for us tomorrow, then left it there for a few moments. It was enough to stand together and watch the light fade.
Marsault Simard
I repaired the wheel in the yard while my son watched from the doorway. He asked why I did not simply make a new one. I showed him the sound wood that remained and the place where it had weakened. By the time we finished, he had learned something about wheels, and I had learned that explaining a repair takes longer than doing it.
Marsault Simard
Leonarde told the children a story by the hearth tonight. I had heard it before, but they leaned closer at every turn as if the ending might change. When she finished, our daughter asked what happened to the smallest child afterward. Leonarde said that was a story for another night. I suspect she will have to invent it before tomorrow.
Marsault Simard
We returned to the wall and found one section leaning where it should have stood straight. My son watched while I took it down, then helped me begin again. I had hoped to finish before dinner, but the work was better for the extra time. He did not remind me that I had laid those stones myself, and I was grateful for his restraint.
Marsault Simard
Leonarde hung the washing in the yard and later found a cloth she had put aside to mend. She examined it for a long time before deciding which parts could still be used. I offered to carry the basket inside, but she said she would finish first. There is satisfaction, she tells me, in seeing a task through while the sun is still up.
Marsault Simard
Father went to the churchyard today and knelt beside a stone. I remained at a distance with the children, who were unusually quiet. He stayed until he was ready to rise, and then we walked home together. He spoke little, but he took my son by the hand at the gate. The boy did not pull away.
Marsault Simard
My son and I looked over the grapes this morning. He wanted to know how I could tell when they were ready, so I handed him a cluster and asked him to look and taste for himself. He made a thoughtful face before reaching for another. I cannot say how much he learned, but he declared the lesson worth repeating.
Marsault Simard
The house was quiet when I passed the room, and I saw Leonarde there by candlelight. I left her to her thoughts. Later she came to the hearth and sat beside me, and we spoke of the children and the work ahead. Some things are easier to carry when another person sits close, even if neither of you knows quite what to say.
Marsault Simard
There was cake on the table tonight, and for once the children were willing to wait until everyone had been served. The crown made its way onto a head that did not remain solemn for long. There was much laughter at his expense, including his own. I hope the children remember evenings like this when they are grown.
Marsault Simard
At the end of the day I stood outside the house and watched the sun settle beyond the fields. Through the window I could hear the family talking, though I could not make out the words. I stayed a little longer before going in. The work would begin again in the morning, but for that moment I was content to hear them there.
Marsault Simard
These images are fictional illustrations, not historical photographs.
The journals are imagined glimpses into family life. The novel begins a larger story of names, memories, and questions carried through generations.
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