Wrote this in 9th grade for a school assignment ("write a first person account of colonial life yada yada yada") after reading Shadows On the Rock by Willa Cather.
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"I need two yards of fabric, a spool of blue thread, and spices. Two yards of fabric, a spool of thread..." I continued to run the list through my head so that I would not forget what Mama had sent me for. It was a chilly mid-October morning in the Lower Town of Quebec, our Canadian settlement, where the St. Lawrence meets the ocean. I was headed for the square, as today was market day, to get a few things my family needed.
The market was busy. I purchased the items we needed and headed for home, telling everybody I met of the wonderful thing that would occur today; my father was coming home! I stopped to exchange a short conversation with my friend, the daughter of one of the guards outside of Governor Frontenac's manor. I told her the good news about Papa. She bade me give him her greetings when he arrived, and I promised to remember whatever stories he had to tell so I could relate them to her. My family spent the rest of the day making what might be described as a banquet, compared to what we usually had. Little Jacques washed the vegetables and I helped Mama measure things and take things in and out of the oven. Soon we had prepared what I thought was the most splendid meal in Quebec, aside of the Governor's.
That evening Papa came home. He had been on the expedition with Louis Joliet and Father Marquette and had been gone for almost a year. The week before his return he sent us a letter telling us he was on his way home and when he would be here. When he walked through the door it was like a gun went off. When we saw him we couldn't help it; all of us, our mother included, exploded with joy. Jacques began telling him about how much he had grown, the tooth he had lost, and a new kitten, all in one sentence. Papa swung my mother around then reached out for me; I ran to him and nearly knocked him over. We knew he was weary from his journey, but he didn't seem to mind. He was just as happy to see us. Eventually everyone calmed down and we went to the table, Jacques on Papa's shoulders and Mama on his arm, while I danced ahead to his chair, holding it for him.
Late into the night he told us stories of what he had seen, the Indians, friendly and fierce, gigantic fish, and other wonders he and his companions had beheld. He gave us gifts; wooden beads that the Indians made, a leather pouch for Jacques, and a necklace of shells. We sat there drinking him in, his face, his voice, his very presence. Then Mama shooed us off to bed. The next day we awoke to the bell in the cathedral, and we couldn't wait to hear more stories about the journey. But we knew God came first, and as we knelt in the chapel that day we thanked Him most fervently for bringing our dear Papa home safe.