Jeanne LeJeune Heads to Governor's Meeting at Halifax Inn

Where does a woman from Nova Scotia go when she needs to prepare for a meeting with the governor?

She doesn’t pack a bag. She doesn’t check the weather. She goes to the Hemlock Tavern and Inn.

That’s where Jeanne LeJeune was last seen before the "crime" began. The place wasn’t special. It wasn’t the Great Pontack, but it was clean. Mr. and Mrs. Fraser served tolerable dinner and ale. They offered six rooms above the taproom. They didn’t speak French, but they accepted a Papist Frenchman’s custom.

Jeanne clattered down the narrow staircase. She clutched her hat. She held her skirts. She nearly toppled the garrulous Mr. Fraser.

“Och, Miss LeJeune, where are ye goin in such a hurry?”

He answered his own question. The governor’s meeting. Of course.

Mr. Fraser was short. Wiry. He rolled his head to inspect her. “Ye canna go out in this sun without a hat.”

He called to his wife. Mrs. Fraser pushed her husband aside. She stood on her toes. She secured Jeanne’s hat.

“It’s nae good for a leddy’s face to get brown,” Mrs. Fraser said. “Already the color of weak tea, ye are!”

Mr. Fraser added, “We would nae want the gentlemen to think ye a savage.”

Mrs. Fraser kicked him in the ankle. He grunted. She gave him a quelling look. Violence promised if he continued.

Jeanne didn’t have the patience to explain. Her skin color had nothing to do with hats. It had everything to do with her mother. Her mother had been a “savage.”

“Non, we would not want that, M’sieur,” Jeanne answered.

She offered a too-polite smile. She pronounced her haitches carefully.

Mrs. Fraser patted her arm. The woman pronounced Jeanne’s name correctly. Jann. Soft J. Hard N. Jeanne liked her for that small thing.

“That’s better now, is it no?” Mrs. Fraser asked. “That’s verra fetching on ye. Is it new?”

Mr. Fraser went on ahead. Jeanne knew her way to the courthouse.

She pushed open the tavern door. The door didn’t fully close behind her. Mrs. Fraser’s voice followed.

But before the story ends, look at the date. June 7, 2026. The Colorado Sun is running an excerpt. This is part of the SunLit series. It’s a book excerpt. An interview with the author.

Jeanne isn’t just a character in a vacuum. She’s in Halifax, Nova Scotia, in 1755. The crime was planned years prior. But for Jeanne, it started here. At the inn.

The Fraser’s aren’t just background noise. They’re the lens. Mr. Fraser is predisposed to answer his own questions. Mrs. Fraser is the one who fixes the hat. The one who kicks the ankle. The woman who ensures Jeanne looks like a lady, even if her skin tells a different story.

Jeanne leaves. The door closes. The meeting with the governor awaits.

The short version? Jeanne LeJeune is preparing. Not for a war. Not for a battle. For a meeting. And the stakes are higher than a hat.

Read that again. The crime was planned many years prior. But it began at an inn. In Halifax.

The Fraser’s offered six rooms. They offered ale. They offered a place to let. Jeanne took it. She took the hat. She took the scrutiny.

Mrs. Fraser called her a savage. Mr. Fraser agreed. Jeanne didn’t correct them. She didn’t have the time. She had a courthouse to reach.

The governor is waiting. The sun is beating down. Jeanne is moving.

This isn’t just history. It’s a snapshot. A moment frozen in 1755. But the implications stretch forward. To 2026. To the readers of The Colorado Sun.

Jeanne LeJeune prepares. She doesn’t hesitate. She doesn’t look back. She walks out the door.

And the story continues.