Frontier Agreement
Shannon Farrington
FORCED TO WEDWhen half-Native American translator Claire Manette joins her mother’s tribe after her father’s death, she’s told she must marry or leave the village. Lewis and Clark expedition member Pierre Lafayette’s offer of a marriage of convenience is enticing. But with her refusal to leave her family behind, and his dreams of exploring uncharted territories, it would never work.Pierre joined the expedition for adventure…and to avoid settling down. So why does he feel compelled to protect a stranger by marrying her? The only thing he’s sure of is that he can’t allow Claire to be forced from the only home she has left. Pierre and Claire are an unlikely match, but amid the wilderness of the West, could his offer of duty become one of love?
Forced To Wed
When half–Native American translator Claire Manette joins her mother’s tribe after her father’s death, she’s told she must marry or leave the village. Lewis and Clark expedition member Pierre Lafayette’s offer of a marriage of convenience is enticing. But with her refusal to leave her family behind and his dreams of exploring uncharted territories, it would never work.
Pierre joined the expedition for adventure...and to avoid settling down. So why does he feel compelled to protect a stranger by marrying her? The only thing he’s sure of is that he can’t allow Claire to be forced from the only home she has left. Pierre and Claire are an unlikely match, but amid the wilderness of the West, could his offer of duty become one of love?
Dear Reader (#uab98e6a2-93c6-51d4-a7fa-d27ee6a0d2ec),
Thank you for choosing my book, Frontier Agreement. It was during a family vacation out west several years ago that I first became enamored with the story of Lewis and Clark. Returning home, I devoured the expedition journals and any other material about the explorers that I could locate. Soon my imagination was off and running. In this story, Claire and Pierre are, of course, fictional characters, as are all of her immediate family, but the setting and events in which they find themselves are, to the best of my ability, historically accurate.
Lewis and Clark did spend the winter of 1804–1805 among the Mandan people in present-day North Dakota, and the medical difficulties, misunderstandings of tribal customs, struggle for food and trouble with the Sioux actually happened. Toussaint Charbonneau and Sacagawea did live at the fort for a time and serve as translators. Charbonneau’s disagreement with Captain Lewis, however, actually did not take place until March of 1805. I took the liberty of moving the event forward a few months in order to place Claire at the fort during Christmas.
While working on this project, I kept wondering what it would have been like to have been a part of the expedition. Would I have been able to endure the hardships? Would I have been able to trust God and complete the tasks assigned to me, or would I have given in to fear of the unknown?
I hope Claire and Pierre’s story will inspire you to forge your own frontier.
Blessings,
Shannon Farrington
“Your mother seems to be enjoying herself,” Mr. Lafayette remarked.
Claire watched her for a few seconds. She recognized that smile, that look of fondness on her mother’s face. “She’s telling him about my father.”
“They must have loved each other very much.”
“They did.” She could feel a lump growing in her throat. Would she ever know such a love? Such a partnership?
“My father is not an outdoorsman,” Mr. Lafayette said, “but every Christmas Eve he takes my brothers and me into the woods to collect pine boughs and berries because he knows my mother loves the smell of them.”
Claire returned his gaze. “My father did the same. Our cabin was filled with greenery.”
“Then after reading the account from Scripture, my father would tell us to place our shoes in front of the fire and hurry off to bed—”
“Or Père Noël would not come?”
“Yes.”
She couldn’t help but smile again. “I was always told the same.” She wondered what sort of boy he had been. Was he affectionate and expressive like Spotted Eagle or rough and rambunctious? Somehow she suspected the latter.
“We have lived very different lives,” he then said, “but I think we ourselves are not so different.”
SHANNON FARRINGTON and her husband have been married for over twenty years, have two children, and are active members in their local church and community. When she isn’t researching or writing, you can find Shannon visiting national parks and historical sites or at home herding her small flock of chickens through the backyard. She and her family live in Maryland.
Frontier Agreement
Shannon Farrington
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.
—Philippians 4:19
In memory of Gandmom McCoy
See you in the morning
Contents
Cover (#u9204a76a-a2c2-5ef1-b457-095804225382)
Back Cover Text (#u97498c88-c596-517a-b8cf-ca9bf257a839)
Dear Reader (#u1abf1da7-4faa-5859-be2e-cbdd1c94bef4)
Introduction (#u9143f3e8-b0df-5782-b4aa-80db1cbce8be)
About the Author (#ua39969f6-21ff-55c4-9f73-524f9506cd68)
Title Page (#u78ebfe43-04e9-510b-8b05-594d0f46d76d)
Bible Verse (#u6ba936ba-6696-5def-bb64-20f9643557b5)
Dedication (#u9470c224-fd84-5bd8-abb9-01a4bcd0bb10)
Chapter One (#u72c78283-3a9e-532a-9670-014938d513e1)
Chapter Two (#u5dbe6799-67f7-559e-ac13-cebba350ab94)
Chapter Three (#u4e40a5c2-db71-5895-ab98-8eb41cc40f44)
Chapter Four (#ucba75d3a-9349-542f-b000-826501984082)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#uab98e6a2-93c6-51d4-a7fa-d27ee6a0d2ec)
Fort Mandan
Upper Louisiana Territory
December 1804
Pierre Lafayette cast an eager eye over the vast horizon and sighed contentedly. The air of the Great Plains was cold but fresh. Here, over a thousand miles from home, he could finally breathe.
When Captain Meriwether Lewis and Captain William Clark accepted him as an oarsman for their westward expedition, he’d realized that at long last he had finally become his own man. I was hired because of who I am. Not because of who my father is or what he may be able to do for them.
A strong back, sharp eye and steadiness with a musket were highly valuable skills in the wilderness. At home they had been frowned upon.
The expedition, the Corps of Discovery, was to winter here on the Missouri River, just beyond the Mandan and Hidatsa Indian villages, before continuing on further westward in the spring. Fortifications had been erected around their camp for defense, but so far the local people had proved themselves to be friendly and welcoming.
Turning his eyes in the direction of the villages, Pierre noticed a trio of natives approaching—two women and a small boy. He studied them as they drew near. Visitors to the fort were nothing new. In the past six weeks since the expedition’s arrival, they had received many people. Most were tribal leaders, but there had been a few curious women and children as well. Pierre didn’t recall seeing these particular Indians before, however.
They approached him cautiously. One of the squaws bowed. The other curtsied. Both were dressed in buffalo robes and had long, dark braided hair. The one who had curtsied had vibrant green eyes that showed her to be of mixed blood. Although young, she carried herself with the grace and stature of a seasoned chief’s wife.
Pierre thought her pretty, pretty enough to turn many a man’s head, but he gave her beauty no further thought than that. If the pampered, powdered belles and wealth of New Orleans hadn’t held his interest, he could hardly be captivated by a penniless Indian woman.
He drew in a long breath. His father had wanted him to become a polished gentleman of society, to marry, beget children and one day take the helm of the family shipping business. Pierre had refused. It wasn’t out of disrespect for his father or unwillingness to take responsibility. I am no rogue, and I am willing to work as hard as any other man. But his father’s life had stifled him. He’d longed for a wider scope for his ambitions—a chance to see more of the world before he settled down into just a small patch of it.
On this expedition, he had done so, and he had loved it. This adventure meant more to him than anything life back home could offer. New Orleans was a wonderful place full of culture, cuisine and comfort, but for Pierre, the harsh unknown beckoned. The winding Missouri, the distant mountains, the Pacific Ocean—these were the only siren songs he wanted to heed. Even now, they called to him. Pierre could hardly wait for the ice on the river to thaw so they could once again be on their way.
But today, there is work to be done here...
He refocused his attention on the green-eyed girl. She had come to the fort requesting an audience with Captain Lewis. Evidently the boy had some ailment. In halting English, she tried to explain, “Boy, here...sore...back...”
Pierre tried to make sense of what she was saying. “He has a sore back?” That was a complaint hardly worthy of disturbing the captain. “Perhaps if he rests—”
She shook her head adamantly. “Great pain. Days. See captain. S’il vous plait...”
The if you please caught his attention. “You speak French?”
“Oui.” A smile of relief broke on her lips, but the moment Pierre offered one in return, it disappeared. A guarded expression took its place.
“I am Claire Manette,” she stated formally in French. “I am the daughter of François Manette, a trapper. My mother and I live in this village. I require Captain Lewis’s medical assistance for my cousin’s young son. May I present Little Flower and Spotted Eagle.”
Pierre nodded politely to the Mandan woman as Mademoiselle Manette continued.
“Spotted Eagle has a large abscess on the lower part of his back. I have drained it twice, applied poultices, but to no avail.”
It wasn’t that uncommon to find a French-speaking woman in an Indian village. Europeans had been traveling this part of the Missouri for years, often taking wives from among the native tribes. There was already, in fact, a Frenchman in this particular village, one by the name of Toussaint Charbonneau. He had two young squaws, Otter Woman and Sacagawea.
What is uncommon, Pierre thought, is to find a woman so educated, so obviously refined. Were it not for the buffalo robe and braided hair, Mademoiselle Manette could easily have been conversing in a New Orleans’s ballroom. Pierre suddenly felt the need to exercise his formal manners. “I am Pierre Lafayette,” he said bowing, “at your service.”
Her stoic gaze told him she was hardly impressed. Clearing his throat, he straightened.
“I hoped Captain Lewis might have some sort of medicine,” she said.
The Mandan woman beside her evidently understood “medicine.” She nodded emphatically at the word, and then showed Pierre the sack she was carrying. It was filled with dried corn.
“She is willing to pay,” Mademoiselle Manette said.
While payment in dry goods was always appreciated, Pierre doubted the captain would require all that had been brought. He signaled to the guard on the catwalk above them, then led the women and the boy into the fort. Just as he had predicted, the mademoiselle turned many a soldier’s head. A private on the parade field missed his step for a glance at the guests, and at the forge the blacksmith held his iron suspended above the fire momentarily before returning his attention to his task.
For a moment, the gentleman in Pierre hesitated to leave these women unattended while he sought Captain Lewis, but he told himself that was foolish. The men were disciplined soldiers. A pause, a glance was one thing, but the men would not stray from their duties.
Pierre knocked upon the officers’ quarters.
“Enter,” a voice said.
Stomping the snow from his moccasins, Pierre stepped into the tiny room. The light of a single candle glowed. Captain Lewis was bent over his writing desk, scrawling out reports for his commander, President Thomas Jefferson.
My President, Pierre thought. In Washington. Not that long ago, Pierre had sworn allegiance to the emperor in France, but with Bonaparte’s sale of the Louisiana territory, he had become an American. What a strange new world.
Captain Lewis returned his quill to the inkwell, looked up. “What is it, Mr. Lafayette?” he asked.
“Pardon the disturbance, sir, but there are two women here to see you. They’ve brought a young boy in need of medical treatment.”
As a Virginia gentleman and the son of a devout Christian mother, the captain was never one to turn away a soul in need. He immediately stood. “Show them in.”
Pierre did so at once, introducing Mademoiselle Manette as a translator. Captain Lewis nodded to Spotted Eagle and his mother, then asked Miss Manette, “What exactly ails the boy?”
Pierre spoke for her. “The lady doesn’t understand much English, sir.”
The lady quickly corrected him. “Understand? Oui. Speak? No.”
Captain Lewis suppressed a smile as Pierre tried unsuccessfully to will the color from his face. She’s French for certain, he thought, for she has no trouble speaking her mind.
* * *
Claire resisted the urge to clamp her hand over her mouth as the two men stared at her. The dark-haired Frenchman was embarrassed, the American captain somewhat bemused. Apparently the scent of smoke-saturated wool, the writing desk and small raised bed had made her forget where she was.
She had been born in a room not unlike this one, in a small cabin in Illinois. There her father used to tell her she was passionate to a fault where truth was concerned. But he always said it with a smile, Claire mused, and he said he believed the quality would serve me well.
So far it had not. Such plainspokenness did not sit well in a village where women were treated little better than pack animals. She loved her Mandan family, her mother’s people, her people, but after six months among them, six hard months trying to assimilate into the culture, she still was not fully accepted. She was Mandan, but she was also white, and she had taken up the white man’s religion.
Yet from the looks of the two men before me, I am not quite white enough, she thought. I’m a curious creature, and no doubt they think me gullible and naive.
She wasn’t either of those things, and she wouldn’t be taken advantage of by any white man, be he dressed in decorated uniform or common buckskin. She had learned that lesson the hard way. She was, however, intelligent enough to recognize God’s provision when she saw it. Spotted Eagle was on the verge of becoming very ill. She needed the captain’s help.
Claire quickly explained her presence. The Frenchman was still staring at her, but at least he had the decency to translate her words. Thankfully, the American captain wasted no time. He examined Spotted Eagle personally.
“What have you applied as poultice?” he asked her.
“Comfrey and calendula to ease the pain,” she said. “Also yarrow.”
The American nodded his approval. “The yarrow has kept it from festering, but it has not treated the cause.” He probed the boy’s back more closely. Spotted Eagle winced.
“It will be over soon,” the captain promised him with a smile.
Claire appreciated the man’s attempt to comfort her cousin’s young son. So far, relations between the natives and the white men had been cordial. Captains Lewis and Clark had insisted the government that had sent them wished to promote peace and trade. From what Claire had observed, the trade had been fair. She hoped it would remain that way. The white man’s presence could be an opportunity to reflect the light of God’s love.
Or it could detract from it, she thought, for Claire had met men before who claimed to love God but did not extend the same care to His people.
The Frenchman was still staring.
What are you looking at, sir? she wanted to say, but she already knew the answer.
Feeling more uncomfortable by the moment, Claire returned her gaze to the captain. Her eyes followed his every move. He applied a poultice, then gave Spotted Eagle a pill to swallow. After several repeated sips of water, the very large object finally went down.
“Keep on with the poultices for a few more days,” the captain told Claire.
The doctoring now finished, Little Flower presented her sack of corn to him. Claire was pleasantly surprised that he took only half.
“Please tell her that her payment is more than adequate,” he said.
Claire nodded, then delivered the message in Mandan. Little Flower was most pleased. After reclaiming her sack, she bowed several times to the captain. Then she did the same to the Frenchman beside him. The men bowed formally in return.
Claire curtsied. “Merci,” she said.
Eager to be on her way, she then reached for Spotted Eagle’s hand. The Frenchman opened the door.
A cold blast of wind stung her face. Stepping outside, Claire could feel the eyes of the men around her. One particular soldier grinned. Little Flower returned his look, but Claire, drawing her buffalo robe closer, kept her eyes down as she tramped steadily back toward the village. The snow crunched beneath her moccasins. Already it was deep, and there was much more winter still to come.
Spotted Eagle trudged along quietly, but Little Flower chatted excitedly. She seemed confident the excursion to the fort had proven worth their effort. “White men have great power,” she proclaimed. “Strong medicine.”
“The power does not come from white men,” Claire corrected her gently. “If the American captain’s medicine heals Spotted Eagle, it will be because the God of Heaven, the true Great Spirit, ordains it so.”
To that, Little Flower said nothing.
Open their eyes, Lord, please.
It was a prayer Claire had offered numerous times as she and her mother labored to be a light for the Lord in this village. More than anything she wished for the salvation of her cousins, her uncle Running Wolf and the rest of the Mandan people. But were their efforts really accomplishing anything, or were their “curious ways,” as her uncle put it, their refusal to participate in certain tribal customs, only further alienating the kinsmen they so desperately wished to see come to Christ?
Running Wolf had taken them in because Claire’s mother was his own flesh and blood and because her husband had been a friend to the Mandan people, but more than once he had stated he would not worship François Manette’s supposed all-powerful God or His son, Jesus. “I will not become like white men.”
Neither Claire nor her mother wished their Mandan family to forget their heritage. All they wanted was for their tribe to know the true creator, to experience His life, the life He intended, free from superstitious fear, free from disease propagated by sin.
But truth be told, there was another reason Claire was desperate for the conversion of her family. She was of marriageable age—well beyond it, in fact, by tribal standards. Upon her arrival in the village, her uncle had given her one year to mourn her father. “After that, you will be given to a husband.”
Claire inwardly sighed. She, like any young woman her age, wanted a home and a family of her own. But how am I to wed a man who does not share my faith? Without such, there can be no true union of heart or mind or spirit. Her parents had shared such a love. She wanted the same.
If Running Wolf were to come to faith in Christ, he would understand that. Then he would not insist I wed an unbeliever.
“Perhaps, Bright Star,” Little Flower said, referring to Claire by her Mandan name, “you will find a husband among the white men of the fort.”
Claire felt herself flush in spite of the cold. Little Flower hadn’t known Claire’s thoughts, but the subject of her eligibility was obviously on her cousin’s mind. Had Running Wolf enlisted her for help? Was that why she had smiled at so many of the men at the fort?
Little Flower then giggled. “You must admit, they are handsome. Especially the one who speaks in your tongue.”
Claire flushed even further. She was thankful for the harsh wind. Its sting concealed the true reason for the fire in her face. Yes, she had noticed the Frenchman and yes, he was handsome. Broad shoulders, raven-black hair, eyes the color of charcoal. He had noticed her, as well, and had apparently liked what he saw. Which is all the more reason to avoid him.
“I do not seek a handsome man alone, Little Flower, but one who worships my God.”
“Perhaps he does, Bright Star.”
As intriguing as the possibility of that thought was, Claire quickly dismissed it. Even if Mr. Lafayette was a Christian, even if he did take an honorable interest in her, what good could possibly come of it? Marriage still wouldn’t be possible between them since the expedition would be leaving in the spring.
The best Claire could hope for was that his conduct, and that of his comrades, would not snuff out any light she and her mother were trying to kindle.
* * *
Two days later, having just returned from Captain Clark’s hunting excursion, Pierre stepped into the fort. He arrived just in time to see Toussaint Charbonneau storming out of it. The Frenchman was clearly angry about something, angry enough to ignore Pierre’s greeting, angry enough to outpace his heavily pregnant teenage wife.
Sacagawea struggled to catch him. Pierre couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. He doffed his cap at her. She offered him a sweet smile and hurried on.
Captain Lewis was standing at the entrance to his quarters, arms folded across his chest, looking rather miffed himself. He and the trapper must have quarreled over something, Pierre thought. Again.
As Pierre approached, the obvious frown on the captain’s face shifted to its customary stoic expression.
“I see Captain Clark’s party has returned,” Lewis said. “Was the hunt successful?”
“Indeed, sir. Ten buffalo. They are being brought in by sled as we speak.”
Lewis nodded pensively. “Has the captain determined what is to be done with them?”
“Yes, sir. He thought it best to take them to the main Mandan village first since it was a joint hunting party.”
Lewis nodded again. “Tell Captain Clark that the men should return when the delivery of meat is complete.”
“Yes, sir,” Pierre replied. He started to turn.
“The woman,” Lewis then said, “the one who came in search of medical assistance. What is she called?”
“Claire Manette, sir.”
“She is fluent in French?” Captain Lewis asked.
“I believe so, sir.”
“When you go to the village, see if she would be kind enough to assist us with our vocabulary, since Charbonneau is unable to cooperate or agree with anyone.”
So that was the cause of the argument. The captains had eagerly accepted Charbonneau as an interpreter because Sacagawea could speak not only the local language but also that of the mountain tribe where the expedition was headed in the spring. She dictated vocabulary to her husband, and he translated her language into French. Then, with the help of Pierre or one of the other Frenchmen, his words were translated into English for the captains.
It was a tedious process, and Charbonneau had a tendency to argue pronunciation and the nuance of every French word rather than convey the basic messages necessary for maintaining friendly relations with the current tribe. Evidently Captain Lewis’s patience was wearing thin, and he was prepared to replace the disagreeable Frenchman if he could.
“Ask Miss Manette to come to the fort,” Lewis told Pierre.
The memory of her sharply spoken insistence that she could indeed understand English crossed his mind. For one split second, he grinned.
“You find that assignment agreeable, Mr. Lafayette?” Captain Lewis said.
“No, sir,” Pierre said quickly, feeling himself redden. What exactly had made him grin? “That is, yes, sir. At your command, sir.”
Dismissed, Pierre instantly turned for the front gate. Make a fool of yourself, why don’t you, Lafayette?
Trekking across the snow-covered ground, Pierre recalled the adventure from which he had just returned. They had been hunting buffalo—huge, hot-breathing, massive, hairy beasts—and he had been the one to fire the shots that had brought not one but two of the animals to their knees. Pierre clutched his musket. A feeling of pride, of accomplishment surged through him. God had blessed him with a hunter’s prowess, and he was making the most of it.
And I am determined to continue to do so. Of all the animals he had hunted thus far, there was one he wanted above all others—the great brown bear.
The Indians insisted the creature was like no other, a massive grizzly beast with claws strong enough to mortally wound a man in one swipe, or break him in half with a single bite. Yet as dangerous as the bear seemed, every man on the expedition wanted to see one. Pierre was determined to be the first man to bring one down.
And then, when I return from doing so with a deed for a land grant in hand, property of my own and plenty of stories of grand accomplishments to share, my father won’t think my adventures a waste of time.
At the riverbank, Pierre climbed into a waiting pirogue. The small boat carried him toward the opposite shore. He navigated the water carefully, for the Missouri was teeming with floating chunks of ice. Soon it would close completely, and he’d be able to walk across the frozen water.
The smell of cooking fires and sound of excitement was discernible as he neared the main Mandan village. A ditch and a walled embankment of clay surrounded the Indian dwellings. Pierre had never seen anything quite like them before. The lodges, made of timber, were partly sunk into the ground and then covered with a thick layer of earth. He imagined they were quite warm inside.
They’d have to be, he thought. For who could survive winter after winter in this harsh landscape if not? That was one thing to which he had not yet become accustomed. Upper Louisiana was much colder than Lower Louisiana.
Following the sounds of chatter, he walked toward the center of the village, to a plaza of sorts. There, beneath a large tree, stood Captain Clark and Chief Black Cat. The ten slain buffalo lay before them. The remainder of the hunting party and the rest of the village were there, as well.
Chief Black Cat was waving his arms toward the sky while speaking loudly in Mandan. Pierre had no idea what was being said, but he guessed that the chief was thanking the spirits for a good hunt. Pierre glanced about the crowd. Someone else was giving thanks, as well. Amid a cluster of females, two women had bowed their heads and folded their hands.
Are there Christians in this village? he wondered. Pierre watched for a moment. When the women raised their heads, he recognized one of them. Mademoiselle Manette. The woman beside her was older but of similar features. That must be her mother.
Pierre lingered for a moment where he stood, watching the pair of them. Then, thinking better of what he was doing, he moved toward Captain Clark.
“Ah, young Lafayette,” the buckskin-clad American said. “I presume you have a message.”
“Yes, sir. Captain Lewis wishes for our men to return to the fort.”
Clark nodded.
Chief Black Cat’s ceremony now finished, the women of the tribe came forward to carve the buffalo. Miss Manette and her mother were among them.
Captain Clark instructed his men to take their five buffalo back to the fort. Yet the moment the soldiers moved to do so, Chief Black Cat waved his arm in a sign of obvious disagreement. He gestured toward the women, then the buffalo, then back to Captain Clark. The American did not understand.
Neither did Pierre. Was the Mandan chief insisting all ten buffalo remain in the village? Pierre felt his muscles tense. He saw Captain Clark’s jaw tighten as well, apparently reaching the same conclusion—and no happier with it than Pierre was. They were hungry. It had been a joint hunting party. They would stand for no less than an equal share of the meat.
The chief continued gesturing toward his women, speaking louder, more emphatically. Noting the suspicious gazes of the surrounding warriors, Pierre gripped his musket tighter. Something lightly touched his arm. Jerking to the side, he found Miss Manette before him.
“Chief Black Cat is offering you assistance,” she said.
“What type of assistance?” Pierre asked warily.
“He says the women will prepare your share of the buffalo for you.”
“Our share?”
“Yes.”
So the chief hadn’t intended to claim the entire kill. Pierre quickly relayed the message to Captain Clark. The American’s face softened immediately. He bowed respectfully to the chief, then looked back at Pierre. “Please tell Black Cat that while his offer is greatly appreciated, it is Captain Lewis’s wish for the men to return at once to the fort. We will butcher the animals there.”
Pierre relayed the instructions to Miss Manette, but she cut him off mid-message with a perturbed look. Then, turning, she spoke most respectfully to her chief.
Pierre remembered her words. “Understand English? Oui. Speak? No.”
Black Cat forthwith dismissed the women surrounding the soldiers’ portion of the kill, and the men carried off the animals. Before turning to go, Chief Black Cat made one final remark to the American captain. Clark nodded and smiled. Miss Manette chuckled softly.
“What did he say?” Pierre asked,
She suddenly looked very uncomfortable, and Pierre couldn’t resist teasing her just a bit.
“Go on,” he nudged. “I know it was more than a wish for pleasant dreams.”
A hint of a smile tugged at her mouth, one she looked like she was trying desperately to keep hidden. Does she think I am amusing? he wondered.
“The chief said the white men are powerful hunters—”
“Thank you,” Pierre replied, his chest swelling just a bit.
“—but that you insist on doing women’s work.”
So much for his pride. Irritation took its place, for the look in her eyes seemed to say that she enjoyed taking him down a peg. “I see,” he said, curtly. “Thank you for relaying the message.”
She nodded brusquely, then added, “Black Cat says he does not understand your ways.”
And that brought Pierre directly to his next order of business. Understanding each other’s ways, and words, were the keys to peace. “Which is why Captain Lewis requests your presence at the fort.”
The smug look instantly vanished. Her eyes widened. Pierre couldn’t help but notice again what a lovely shade of green they were. Before he could tell her exactly why the captain had requested her, the mademoiselle’s mother approached.
Pierre removed his cap, bowed. “Madame,” he said.
The older woman seemed more at ease with him than did her daughter. She smiled broadly.
“This is my mother,” Miss Manette said guardedly. “Her name is Evening Sky.”
Madame Manette then said something to her daughter in Mandan.
“Oui,” the mademoiselle responded.
“Your mother speaks French, as well?” he asked.
“She understands but cannot speak with ease.”
“I see,” Pierre said once more.
“My mother asked if you were one of the soldiers who helped Spotted Eagle. I told her yes.”
“How is the boy?” Pierre asked.
“Much better, merci. Please express my thanks to Captain Lewis.”
“You can tell him yourself. He asks that you come to the fort and assist us with understanding your language, help us compile a list of words, an explanation of your tribal customs.”
Mother and daughter exchanged glances. “But Sacagawea—” the younger woman then said.
“Evidently there has been some sort of disagreement.”
“Oh.”
There was a long pause. Pierre could clearly see her hesitancy. Did she think the captain would command her service without payment?
“You would be rewarded for your service,” he told her.
Her eyes flashed angrily. “I’ve no need for useless trinkets.”
So vain baubles didn’t appeal to her. He respected that, but he wasn’t about to tell her so. It irritated him that she had so quickly assumed she’d be paid in useless trinkets. What did she think he and the other men were? A pack of scoundrels looking to trick or take advantage of the native tribes? We are here to explore the land, foster good relations between the tribes, promote fair trade for all. “You would have to discuss payment with Captain Lewis,” he said.
Her mother touched her lightly on the sleeve, spoke again to her in Mandan. The cross look on the daughter’s face softened slightly, but her expression toward him remained anything but friendly. “Tomorrow,” Miss Manette then said to him.
“Tomorrow?”
“Please tell Captain Lewis that I will pray about his offer and give you my answer tomorrow.”
Pierre squinted. Pray about it? While he respected her faith, this was hardly a life-or-death decision. What exactly was there to pray about? It was a few days’ work at most. Knowing Charbonneau, he’d come crawling back as soon as he realized the captains could do without him.
“The work is only temporary,” Pierre told her.
“I understand,” she said. “Still...tomorrow.”
Pierre couldn’t help but feel a measure of disappointment, but why, he did not know. He certainly didn’t enjoy conversing with this woman. Was he disappointed in his ability to perform his duties in persuading her to comply? Did he fear his captain would think him a failure if he didn’t bring her to the fort immediately?
Across the way, an Indian, a powerful-looking man with eagle plumes in his hair and arms the size of trees, was staring at Pierre. Who was he? A relative? Did he distrust the men at the fort as much as Mademoiselle Manette obviously did? Is he the cause of her delay? Whoever he was, Pierre instantly recognized he was not one to be trifled with.
“Very well, mademoiselle,” Pierre said. “I shall relay your message to Captain Lewis.” He tipped his cap to her and her mother, then returned to the fort.
* * *
After the meat had been carved and equally distributed among the tribe, Claire and her mother returned to their lodge. A comforting fire was glowing, smoke curling toward the small hole in the center of the roof. Claire was glad for its warmth. Although her mother did not complain, Evening Sky was walking slowly today. The cold made the older woman’s bones ache. Claire helped settle her mother in the spot against the wall, then piled the buffalo skins around her.
They shared this dwelling with twenty other family members—Running Wolf and his wife, their children, their spouses and several grandchildren, as well. It was within these walls that Claire’s Mandan family told their stories, tales of spirits and souls.
Claire loved and respected her aunt and uncle, her cousins and her cousins’ children. She wanted to believe they cared for and respected her, too. After all, Running Wolf had thought enough of her judgment to have her accompany Little Flower to the fort to seek help for Spotted Eagle. He’d even praised her for her ability to communicate effectively with Captain Lewis.
“You speak to a man of powerful medicine,” he’d said, “and he has honored you.”
She breathed a silent sigh at the memory. If she could continue to please him in ways like this, if she could prove that she could contribute to the tribe as an unmarried woman, then perhaps Running Wolf would not be so eager to see her wed.
She’d thanked her uncle for the honor he paid her, but gave credit to where it was ultimately due. “I had nothing to do with Spotted Eagle’s healing. It was my God who made your grandson well. He used Captain Lewis to do it.”
Running Wolf had dismissed her claim of God’s providence with a sniff, just like he did whenever she spoke words from her father’s Bible. To him, the stories of sin and sacrifice, of life resurrected from the grave, were simply fanciful tales, products of a white man’s imagination.
But I know they are true. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son...”
Her uncle, her chief and the warriors of the tribe might be formidable men, but she was determined to be a light in the darkness and pray for their salvation.
Her mother, now settled, reached for the pair of moccasins she was crafting, a gift for Running Wolf.
“You are intrigued by the invitation to work at the fort,” she said knowingly.
Claire drew in a breath. Her mother knew what she was thinking. She always did. Claire was intrigued, but she was not certain she was interested for the right reason. She’d seen today just how quickly a simple misunderstanding over meat could turn into a disaster. Captain Clark had gotten angry. Black Cat was offended and, eyeing them both, Mr. Lafayette had laid his hand on his musket.
It was his response she remembered most vividly. Quick to assume the worst, ready to take action, just like the white men of Illinois. And yet he seemed most relieved when I then explained Black Cat’s true intentions, as though he did not enjoy the possibility of confrontation.
The man was a mystery. A mystery with a charming smile.
He’d offered her the opportunity to help the American captains better understand her people. Would she be able to help? Could she make a difference? She supposed that even if this position provided nothing else, it could certainly be an opportunity to recapture a glimpse of her father’s culture. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it until now. His staring aside, the dark-haired Frenchman spoke to her with courtesy, bowed to her as though he was a Quebec gentleman asking a lady for a dance.
But Mr. Lafayette is no gentleman, she reminded herself, and this is no palatial ballroom. This is the wilderness—cold, barren, hard. This is a place where survival depends upon good hunting and strong bodies. Men here do not pursue women for dancing or concern themselves with matters of courtship.
Taking the pot of snow she had previously collected, Claire placed it on the fire. As it melted, she added herbs for tea. Her uncle would soon arrive, and he would be expecting his drink.
Running Wolf came into the lodge just as the tea had finished steeping. He sat down on his pile of skins. Claire brought the steaming liquid to him.
“Your tea, uncle,” she said.
After he had accepted it, Claire started to move back. However, he motioned for her to stay. After taking a long draft of the tea, he then spoke. “You spoke words to the white hunter and the angry white chief then looked pleased. What did you say ?”
She told him about the misunderstanding with the meat. Running Wolf frowned slightly.
“Mandans take no more meat than needed. Did you tell all the white men this?”
Evening Sky looked up from her work. “She has an opportunity to tell them that and more, brother.”
“How?”
Claire’s mother then told him of the request from Captain Lewis. Running Wolf gathered his knees to his broad chest and thought for a moment, then said, “If the white chief with the three-corner hat wishes for it, then she must obey. The white chief has great power. Perhaps he is willing to share that power with the Mandan.”
“He will send his messenger for her in the morning,” Evening Sky said.
Running Wolf nodded. “Then it is decided.”
Decided? Claire looked at her mother, then her uncle and then back at her mother again. She knew why Running Wolf was eager to send her, but why her mother? She’d told Mr. Lafayette she’d pray about this. She hadn’t even had the opportunity to do so yet. The American captains appeared to be honorable men in search of peace, but what if they were not?
She wanted to protest the decision being made for her when she was still unsure—but she knew better than to speak her mind. Running Wolf would see it as a challenge to his authority, and the likelihood of him ever listening to her on spiritual matters thereafter would be nil.
So she held her tongue, but it was hard to do so. Claire moved about the lodge at a busy pace. She stoked the fire. She cleaned the cooking pot. Soon her cousins and the rest of her family would be arriving and it would be time to prepare the evening meal.
Her mother must have recognized her distress, for when Running Wolf finished his tea and left to visit the elders, she said to her, “All will be well, child. The Lord will supply all we need.” With those simple words, she returned to her beading.
There were times when Claire was envious of her mother’s strong faith. She had a prevailing sense of peace, one that had held despite losing her husband, her relocation to such a hard land and their uncertain future.
Such surety must come with age, Claire thought, but she prayed that God would grant her a little of that peace now.
Chapter Two (#uab98e6a2-93c6-51d4-a7fa-d27ee6a0d2ec)
Claire stepped from the lodge the following morning to find Mr. Lafayette waiting for her. The air was so cold that his nose and his cheeks above his black beard were as red as a choke cherry. The beard lifted with the hint of a smile the moment they locked eyes.
“Good morning, Miss Manette,” he said. “Have you come to a decision?”
“I have, Mr. Lafayette,” she said with much more confidence than she actually felt. Was her nervousness due to the fact that she’d actually had little say in coming to this conclusion or the unsettled feeling his smile provoked in her? Her cousin was right. He was a pleasant-looking man. Claire couldn’t deny that. “I will accept your captain’s invitation,” she said.
His smile broadened but quickly faded the moment her uncle stepped from the lodge. Arms crossed, eagle feathers in his hair, Running Wolf nodded curtly to the white man.
Mr. Lafayette responded the same way.
“My uncle will accompany us to the fort,” Claire explained, “to offer his greetings to your captains.”
“As you wish,” Mr. Lafayette said, and with that, he turned in the direction from which he had come. Claire and her uncle silently followed. After leaving the village, the only sounds were the fierce prairie wind and the snow pelting their clothing.
Whatever conversation might have been initiated by the Frenchman was discouraged by Running Wolf’s presence. For that Claire was grateful. It allowed her time to study him. What kind of man is he? Honest and authentic? Sly and deceitful? All she could tell at this point was that he was most likely a good hunter. His feet made no sound. He walked like a Mandan.
They arrived at the fort, where imposing sentinels still stood guard. One word from Mr. Lafayette, however, and Claire and her uncle were allowed to pass. They followed the Frenchman to the captains’ quarters. Once again she waited outside while he announced her arrival.
“These white men have made a small village,” Running Wolf commented as he glanced about. “Yet they have no altars for incense or prayers.”
“They address their Creator with words from their hearts,” Claire said. Or at least, she hoped they did.
Mr. Lafayette returned, ushered them inside. Captain Lewis was again at his desk. Placing his quill in his inkwell, he stood and greeted her formally. “Miss Manette, I appreciate your willingness to come. Your knowledge will be a great help.”
Mr. Lafayette introduced Running Wolf. Her uncle spoke his words to the captain.
“He says he has great respect for your power and wishes good health to you and your men,” Claire said. “He says that he hopes for continued peace between the white men and the Mandan people.”
Mr. Lafayette promptly translated her words into English. Claire listened carefully to the captain’s response.
“That is my wish, as well, Running Wolf, and why I appreciate your willingness to bring your niece to us. She will be well looked after and will return to you in a few days.”
Claire began repeating the message for her uncle but halted at the captain’s last sentence. A few days? So she—an unmarried woman, alone and unchaperoned—was expected to stay at the fort with all the soldiers? Her spine instinctively stiffened. No! That will not do!
She told Mr. Lafayette so immediately. Blinking, he stole a quick glance at his captain, then looked back at her.
“Tell him,” she said in French. “I will not stay. It is not proper.”
He repeated her message, but far less emphatically than how she had originally spoken. Captain Lewis looked taken aback.
Running Wolf didn’t need a translator to tell him something was wrong. He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, but when Claire explained the circumstances, he was not offended by the captain’s thoughtless request. He was angry with her.
“Do as the white chief says,” he ordered.
But this isn’t proper! He wouldn’t ask such if I were a white woman. Where am I to sleep? Sharing quarters with her blood relatives was one thing, a fort full of soldiers quite another.
The icy chill of fear caused her to shiver. Had her uncle counted on this? Is this his way of finding me a husband?
It was then that Mr. Lafayette spoke. “Perhaps, sir,” he said to Captain Lewis, “if mademoiselle’s mother were to stay on at the fort as a chaperone, the lady may be more apt to remain.”
The lady. Twice now he had referred to her in such a way. Was that how he saw her? Or was he simply saying what he thought she would want to hear? Mr. Granger back in Illinois had claimed to view her with respect and to care for her safety. It had been a lie.
Claire did not know what to think or whom to trust. She studied Mr. Lafayette, trying to discern the truth behind his words, but could garner little information. He had returned his gaze to his captain.
Captain Lewis blinked, and then looked chagrined, as if he’d only then realized the insensitivity of his plan. “Y-yes, of c-course,” he stammered. “My apologies, Miss Manette. That would be only proper. Will your uncle allow your mother to come? I understand and respect the hardship it will place on the rest of your family.”
Yes, it will be a hardship. There would be two fewer pairs of hands to cook, to sew, to tend to the children. Claire explained it to Running Wolf. When he frowned, she was certain he was going to tell Captain Lewis to forget the whole thing.
Good. That was what she hoped would happen.
“My sister cannot make the journey on foot,” he said. “She has weak legs. You must send a good horse for her.”
A good horse? Claire drew in a sharp breath. So she would be staying, after all. Reluctantly she relayed her uncle’s message.
“Yes, of course,” Captain Lewis said, “and we will return the horse to you after your sister’s arrival. You may have use of it until the women return home.”
This pleased Running Wolf, for the use of a white chief’s horse, even if only temporary, was a great honor. He nodded to the captain. “I will go now. I will bring her to you.”
“Then I’ll show you to your horse,” Lewis said. He turned to Mr. Lafayette. “Kindly escort Miss Manette to her quarters.”
The Frenchman snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.”
Heart thudding, Claire watched her uncle follow the tall American outside. She reminded herself that her time here at the fort would be short, her work only temporary, and that God would be with her. She also reminded herself she’d been given an opportunity to foster peace between two cultures. But will they listen?
Mr. Lafayette cleared his throat. “If you’ll follow me...”
Reluctantly she allowed him to lead her outside, down the row of wooden structures to a shack at the end of the line. He shoved open the door, found a candle and lit it. The area was so small that one would think it would retain heat well enough, but Claire doubted that would be the case. The hut was roughly the same size as the captains’ quarters. Even with a fire, that room had been cold and drafty.
My mother will not fare well in such a place. It would be better to reside in a Mandan lodge, she thought. Why couldn’t Captain Lewis simply send one of his men there to work with her on whatever translations he required?
“This was Charbonneau and Sacagawea’s room,” Mr. Lafayette said.
“And it is here I must remain until their return?” she asked.
“At the captain’s request,” he said. He paused, then added, “Please don’t be angry with him. He has been away from proper society for some months now and is no longer accustomed to the needs of females.”
She told herself she should have been grateful to this man for his assistance and attentiveness. He had, in a way, complimented her, but the phrase “proper society” gnawed at her. It reminded her once more just how the average white man saw the people of this land.
They think us savages, reprobates destined to remain that way. Are we not all such without the redeeming blood of Christ? She knew she should swallow back the words on the tip of her tongue, for they were hardly the attitude a Christian should display. Even so, out the biting question came. “And in your opinion, Mr. Lafayette, what constitutes a proper society?”
He looked rather confused for a moment. Then his dark eyes narrowed. Just when she was certain he was going to offer a pointed remark of his own, he visibly collected himself. “Your mother will be brought to you upon her arrival,” he said simply, and with that, he turned and walked out, shutting the door forcefully behind him.
* * *
Pierre knew he had offended her. He could hear it in her tone, see it in her eyes. He hadn’t meant to do so, but he also had no intent of apologizing.
No woman in New Orleans had ever spoken to him the way she did. Not that he missed shallow drivel and obvious flattery, but a little gratitude would have been appreciated. After all, he had done his best to make certain Miss Manette was properly looked after, and she hadn’t even bothered to thank him. Instead she seemed intent on picking a fight. Her green eyes had flashed like prairie lightning, captivating him and infuriating him at the same time.
What was it about him that she so obviously disliked? And why did her distaste bother him?
I’m no more accustomed to having females around now than the captain. The sooner I get busy hunting or skinning or chopping firewood, the better off I will be. Ideally that would be the end of his dealings with Mademoiselle Manette. In all likelihood, Captain Lewis would assign one of the other Frenchmen, perhaps Drouillard or Jessaume, to work with her.
He wanted no part of her, or any woman. The need for freedom burned within him. He’d followed in his father’s footsteps, been the dutiful, diligent, loyal son until the role had nearly suffocated him. He had found his freedom at last, and he intended to maintain it.
Pierre watched as Running Wolf mounted the captain’s horse and rode from the fort. How he longed at that moment to ride toward the horizon, track the next herd of elk or buffalo, encounter a next tribe.
And he knew he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Captain Lewis was as restless as he. He was crossing the parade ground now with an impatient stride.
“I’ve shown Miss Manette to her quarters,” Pierre reported.
“Good,” Lewis said. “Give her mother time to arrive and settle, then let the younger woman begin her work. According to Charbonneau, the Mandans possess no written language. Therefore you shall have to rely on phonetic pronunciation. I’ve no doubt, though, you are up to the task.”
I am up to the task? He saw where this was going. “Thank you, sir, but wouldn’t one of the other men—”
Lewis stopped him with an upturned hand. He was clearly in no mood for discussion. “You have already established a relationship with both Miss Manette and her mother. You are the man for the job.”
Pierre inwardly groaned. Of course he would do whatever was required of him to ensure the success of this expedition, but being confined to quarters with Miss Manette was not what he’d had in mind.
“Did you discuss payment for her services?” Lewis asked.
“No, sir. I assumed you would, but—” He stopped, thinking better before relaying the comment she had made to him while still in her village.
Lewis eyed him curiously. “If you have something to say, Mr. Lafayette, then do so.”
He might as well prepare the man for the argument. “The lady won’t work for trinkets, sir. She expressed as much to me earlier.”
“I have no intention of giving her baubles. Perhaps a small ax or other tool to make her household tasks easier, or the corn her relation brought with her previously.”
Captain Lewis turned for his quarters, but before doing so he instructed Pierre, “Wait for the mother’s arrival. Then escort her to her daughter.”
“Yes, sir,” he said with much more enthusiasm than he actually felt.
Taking up post at the open gate, Pierre stared across the vast landscape. The Indian villages on the far side of the riverbank were not visible today due to the snow that fell like tufts of cotton from a swirling sky. During the night, the Missouri had iced completely over. For one irrational moment, he thought, What if it never melts? What if I become trapped here? What if I never venture beyond this spot?
If that were the case, he’d accomplish none of his goals. He would never see the great brown bear of the mountains. There would be no claim to fame for helping discover an all-water route to the Pacific Ocean. No land grant of his own on which to stake his claim.
He laughed then at his own absurdity. Spring would come. The Scriptures promised so. “As long as the earth endureth...seed time and harvest...” He then fortified his thoughts with the idea that his time spent with Miss Manette would be just as fleeting.
Sometime later an Indian rider emerged from the haze of white. Crossing the ice with ease, Running Wolf rode to the entrance of the fort. With one deft motion, he deposited his sister gently to the ground, then urged his horse back in the direction from which he had come.
Pierre bowed to her. The older woman did not curtsy but did, however, offer him a generous smile. “Bonjour,” she said proudly.
“And a good day to you, madame. Thank you for coming.” Uncertain of how much French she could actually understand, Pierre cut the pleasantries short. He escorted her to her daughter. Miss Manette was watching his approach from the doorway, eyeing him again with a look of suspicion.
“Your mother, mademoiselle,” he said. “I shall gather the supplies necessary for your task, then return shortly.”
She said nothing to that, but clearly she did not like the idea of working with him any more than he did her. Ushering the older woman inside, she quickly closed the door.
* * *
So he was coming back. He would be the one with whom she must work. Claire sighed. Once again she must endure his staring, his quips about proper society. I would rather be assigned to the captain, she thought, but then again, she trusted him no more than she did Lafayette. After all, he was the one who insisted she stay here at the fort.
She sighed once more, her thoughts at war with one another. Yes, Captain Lewis had been kind in treating Spotted Eagle’s injury, and yes, Mr. Lafayette had spoken on her behalf to bring her mother as a chaperone. Still, a person could be lulled into trust by a kind action or two, only to discover the kindness was just a cover for cruelty and greed.
Was it peace these men actually sought? Is that why they compiled their lists and studied her tribe’s customs? Or did they have something else entirely in mind? Something far more sinister? Were they studying them to learn their weaknesses, to learn how to defeat them?
Lord, protect my people. Protect my mother. Protect me.
Evening Sky scooted closer to the small fire Claire had kindled in the stone ring in the center of the room, but it did little to provide warmth or cheer. The ground was cold and hard, and not nearly as level as that of her own lodge. Carefully she piled buffalo skins and woolen blankets left by the previous occupants of the room, over the older woman.
“Thank you, child, but do not fret,” her mother said.
“I cannot help but fret over you,” Claire replied. “I love you.”
Evening Sky offered her a smile. “And I you...but trust.”
The last word seemed to carry more meaning than just an assurance of her mother’s health, and Claire’s conscience was pricked. When Mr. Lafayette knocked upon the door a few moments later, a crate of supplies in hand, Claire did her best to walk the fine line between cordiality and guardedness, to be shrewd as a serpent but harmless as a dove.
While her mother watched silently from the corner of the room, beadwork in hand, Claire took her place at a rough-hewn desk and began poring over the lists the Frenchmen presented her.
“These are the words Charbonneau and Sacagawea compiled with Mr. Jessaume,” he said. “They say you call yourselves the ‘people of the pheasants.’” He tried to pronounce what had been written. “See-pohs-ka-na—”
“See-pohs-ka-nu-mah-kah-kee,” Claire corrected him.
He struggled to repeat the phrase. “And is Sacagawea ‘of the pheasant people’?”
“No,” Claire explained. “She is of the west. Across the great mountains. She and Otter Woman were captives of war.”
“War seems to be a way of life in this land,” he said.
A land of less than proper society, you mean. “Is it not a way of life in all lands?” she replied. “Those who do not fight for territory or hunting rights fight for gold or covet their neighbor’s possessions.”
She could hear the terseness in her voice and a touch of self-righteousness, too. Again her conscience was pricked. What am I doing? Why do I seek to provoke him? Will it not undermine the purpose for which I have come? Am I not here to foster peace?
She was just about to apologize, but Mr. Lafayette had already moved on. “Captain Lewis also wishes to compile a history of your people,” he said. “Charbonneau has already told us of the early history, how the tribe migrated to this land. He’s told us as well of your relations with neighboring peoples, the wars and the sicknesses that have greatly reduced your numbers.”
“Yes,” Claire acknowledged quietly, her heart squeezing. Her people had been dying for centuries. Dying without the truth. What am I doing to change that?
“What about family life?” he then asked. “Marriage. Children.”
His question touched upon another set of emotions, ones she was determined to keep hidden. She gave Mr. Lafayette only a minimal explanation of marital arrangements. “Marriages are most often arranged by the members of a young woman’s family.” In my case, my uncle. If I do not find a proper husband before the end of spring, Running Wolf will choose one for me. “If a man wishes to accept the prospective bride, he brings her family a gift.”
“Is that part of the formal marriage ceremony?”
“There really isn’t a formal ceremony. At least not in any way to which you would be accustomed. On a certain day, a bride is simply presented to a warrior, and t-they b-begin their life together.” She stammered slightly over that last phrase, unable to keep from wondering just when that certain day would come for her.
“I see,” he said. “And if a man is not pleased with his wife?”
She swallowed back the lump growing in her throat. “A divorce can be easily obtained.” And then he seeks another wife, and if not pleased with her, then another. And even if she does please him, she can be bartered away, or he can take a second wife. She swallowed again. Is this to be my lot in life? Is this to be the continued way of life for the women of my tribe?
There was little regard for the sacredness of marriage here, and certainly no concept of what it was meant to reflect—a partnership, mutual affection and joy, such as the love Christ had for his bride, the church. Nothing like what my mother and father had.
“I see,” he said once again. “We’d also like to learn more of your religious beliefs.”
“I worship God the Father and His son, Jesus, as does my mother,” Claire said without hesitation, “but my Mandan people do not.”
“I suspected you did. I saw you bow your head to give thanks for the meat. I, too, am a Christian.”
To that, Claire said nothing. She’d seen men claim the name of Christ before, then do the very opposite of what His holy words commanded. She cast a glance at her mother. She had seen it, as well.
Evening Sky eyed her silently, but there was no hint of anger or resentment on her face.
The Frenchman then pointed to the parchment in front of her. “In your opinion, are the vocabulary lists accurate?”
Claire perused what had been compiled so far. “With the exception of one or two minor discrepancies.”
“Would you be kind enough to correct them?” He dipped the quill in the ink well, then handed it to her.
The feel of the feather, the scratch of the nub against the parchment, brought back a host of childhood memories. There had been no other children in her little Illinois community and therefore no school, but a visiting French priest had taught her the basics of reading and writing one autumn when her father was away.
Leaning closer, Mr. Lafayette perused the corrections she was making. Claire couldn’t help but notice the broadness of his shoulders, the firmness of his jaw. He smelled of leather, gunpowder and coffee—strong, pleasing scents.
She shook off the thoughts as the bugle sounded. He abruptly stepped back.
“That’s the call for supper,” he explained.
Good, Claire thought. Then you can be on your way.
He rolled up the parchments, tied them with sinew. Looking then to her mother, he said, “Captain Lewis asks that you join us for the meal.”
Evening Sky understood enough of his request to know hospitality had been extended. Such was commended among not only Christians but also Mandans. The older woman smiled appreciatively and nodded.
Claire, however, was not so eager.
Mr. Lafayette bowed to her mother. “Then I’ll see you both at the campfire,” he said, and with that, he left the room.
“You do not like him,” her mother said matter-of-factly after Claire had shut the door behind him.
“No. I do not,” she admitted.
“And why is that?”
Though a thousand thoughts and fears marched through her mind, the only coherent objection Claire could voice was the comment he’d made about proper society.
“Perhaps he did not mean it the way it sounded,” Evening Sky said. “Grant him grace, child, and take heed that you do not harbor unforgiveness in your heart. It is like a weed. It will strangle any good fruit you wish to cultivate.”
The unforgiveness Evening Sky warned against was prompted by the memory of Phillip Granger, the man who had stolen away what rightfully belonged to her and her mother. Claire drew in a breath. She had tried to forgive the man but couldn’t quite bring herself to do so, at least not with any lasting effect.
Bitterness and suspicion still darkened her heart. Which is why I do not trust Mr. Lafayette or his captains...and it is likely the very reason I have seen no progress with my family. I am hindering the spread of the gospel.
Her mother smiled at her tenderly. “You are a brave and conscientious daughter,” she said, “and I am honored to have given birth to you and to have raised you, but you are not the Great Father. You cannot govern how others seek to treat you any more than you can restrain the rain clouds. All that you can control is your response.”
And my response is crucial to peace—peace not only now but also in eternity. She wanted to be a light, but she knew she could not be one if she did not remain humble before God, if she did not walk in His ways. There was no room for suspicion, for haughtiness or hardness of heart along His path.
God, forgive me. Help me...
Evening Sky kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Come,” she said. “We mustn’t keep our hosts waiting.”
With an uneasy sigh and the whisper of another prayer, Claire assisted her mother to the door.
Chapter Three (#uab98e6a2-93c6-51d4-a7fa-d27ee6a0d2ec)
Claire silently ate the meat that had been doled out to her. Once again she was under the scrutiny of those around her. She could feel their stares. But for the two American captains who approached her to test a few of their newly acquired words, welcome, thank you, eat, peace, Claire spoke to no one.
Mr. Lafayette watched her from across the cooking fire but did not venture any conversation. Claire’s mother, however, having noticed a torn seam in his coat, got up from her place and made signs to the Frenchman. With quicker understanding this time than he had shown during Black Cat’s offer of assistance, he shrugged off his coat. With a grateful smile and a merci, he handed it to Claire’s mother.
Returning to her place beside her daughter, Evening Sky drew out a needle and a length of sinew from her deerskin pouch. At once she began mending the torn seam. The men crowded around the fire continued to stare. Claire marveled once again at her mother’s quiet grace. Her words repeated through her mind. “You cannot govern how others seek to treat you any more than you can restrain the rain clouds. All that you can control is your response.”
And these men have souls, Claire thought, like my Mandan family. If they do not know Christ...then perhaps she had been placed at this fort for higher purpose than vocabulary. After all, peace between the neighboring tribes and with the white men could be achieved only if true peace came to each heart.
She wanted to walk God’s path. If His path meant assisting a fort full of soldiers, responding kindly to their curious stares and ignorant remarks, then so be it.
Charity slowly slaked her fear. Looking to Mr. Lafayette, she said, “Please tell your men if they have clothing that needs to be repaired, we will gladly see to it.”
He relayed the message. At once the soldiers scurried to their quarters, returning with shirts, stockings and various items of buckskin and broadcloth. As the articles piled at her feet, Claire silently withdrew her own needle from her pouch and set to work. Curiosity soon waned. The men stopped staring. The gentle hum of conversation drifted about, some of it French, some of it English. Most of it centered on hunting elk, buffalo and the prize they all seemed to want most—the great brown bear.
Claire couldn’t help but remember her father’s stories of the beast. He’d been eager to track one as well, until the day came when one tracked him.
“I barely escaped with my own hide!” he’d said with a laugh.
Though the danger had been deadly, Claire smiled at the image of her robust father running for his life, shedding every item he carried to hasten his speed.
“The Lord surely looks after drunks and fools,” he’d said. To which her mother had playfully chided, “Neither of which is a good thing to be.”
One of the soldiers produced a fiddle and began to play. As music filled the air, the men moved about, some to quarters, some to clean their muskets. The tensions of the day unwound to the rest of eventide. Claire felt herself beginning to settle, as well—until Mr. Lafayette approached her.
“You and your mother are very kind to take on such a duty,” he said. “Most of our men are skilled tanners, but our clothing does not wear well. The river takes its toll.”
“I imagine so,” Claire replied.
He sat down beside her. Claire made her best attempt at a welcoming smile, then kept on with her work.
“I saw an Indian woman in a village south of here making holes in the buffalo skin with a sharp piece of bone,” he said. “She then wove the sinew through with her fingers.”
Claire nodded. “There are few sewing needles in this land. The women who have them have come by them by way of British or French traders.”
His dark eyebrows arched. “Are there many British traders?”
Claire might have been only a woman, and one far removed from European entanglements, at that, but she recognized political wariness when she saw it. Frenchmen did not like Englishmen, and from what she remembered of life in Illinois, Americans did not like them, either.
“There are a few British,” she replied evenly. “They come every now and again.”
“And do your people acquire many supplies from them?”
Claire considered her words carefully. She was certain her comments would end up in a report to the captains, and she wanted to make the most of it. “The Mandans trade openly with anyone who treats them fairly and justly. My sewing implements, however, as well as my mother’s, did not come from the British traders. They were gifts from my father.”
He nodded. Whether in relief or approval, she did not know. “He was well-known in this village?”
“Yes, and respected by all.”
A call from the sentinel on the catwalk captured Claire’s attention, as well as everyone else’s around her. The music and conversation stopped. A warrior was approaching. One apparently riding the captain’s horse.
“It seems your uncle has come to pay you and your mother a visit,” Mr. Lafayette said.
Is something amiss? “So it seems.” Claire laid aside the clothing and stood. The gate opened. In rode Running Wolf, looking stately and dignified as usual. Spotted Eagle sat behind him. Noticing her at the fire, Claire’s young cousin slid to the ground and immediately came running toward her. He fell upon her and her mother at once with kisses. Claire treasured every one of them, for she knew the time would soon come when he would think himself too old to display such affection.
She scooped him into her arms. “You wiggle like a bear cub,” she said. “What brings you to the fort?”
“I came to wish you well in your new life.”
She laughed slightly. He had thought she was leaving him. She felt bad that her supposed departure had caused him sadness, but it warmed her heart to know that she had been missed. “Silly child,” she said with a laugh. “Do not fret. My work here at the fort is only for a few days. I shall return to the lodge soon.”
Spotted Eagle shook his head. “Uncle said he wishes to make a trade with the captain.”
Trade? The word made her breath hitch.
“What kind of trade?” Evening Sky asked.
“His horse for Claire.”
Pain pierced Claire’s heart like an arrow, and fear and panic quickly spread through her veins. So this had been her uncle’s reason for sending her to the fort! He had purposed to sell her as a squaw, a slave to the American captain. She hadn’t doubted his ability to consider such a thing if she’d failed to find a husband within her tribe in the time he permitted, but he had promised her a year of freedom before he would give her in marriage. She still had six months to go!
Claire could not move. In fact, she could barely breathe. Evening Sky, however, seemed infused with fire. Though she had grown weaker in the months since her husband’s death, she now flew to Running Wolf with speed. Spotted Eagle quickly followed her.
Oh, God...please...please help...
Mr. Lafayette had witnessed the entire exchange with little understanding of the details, but he clearly recognized something was wrong. “What is it?” he asked. “Is there to be an attack?”
Apparently he wasn’t the only one who thought that. Evening Sky was making such a commotion that Captain Clark now strode to where she and Running Wolf stood. He had his musket in hand. Captain Lewis for the moment remained at the fire, but his taut face and rigid stance told Claire he was poised to order action if necessary.
Claire was trembling, but she did her best to gather her senses. The lives of many could depend on it. “You are not in danger,” she insisted. “There is no impending attack.”
Mr. Lafayette quickly relayed her words to Lewis. Still, the man stood guard. “What is it, then?” the captain asked. “Why does Running Wolf come? Why is Madame Manette so angry with him?”
Claire swallowed hard. Her cheeks burned with shame. “I-it is a f-family matter,” she stammered. She simply couldn’t bear to tell the captain exactly why her uncle had come. What would he think of her people if he heard of such a plan? Worse, what if he agreed to it?
“It’s obviously a very distressing family matter,” Mr. Lafayette said. “You are trembling.” He reached for her hand. Claire’s immediate instinct was to jerk it free from his grasp, but she found she had not the strength to do so. His hand was rough and calloused, but his grip was gentle.
“Perhaps you should again sit,” he said.
She did so. Kneeling before her, he still kept hold of her hand. “Tell me, how may I assist you?” he asked. “I’m at your service.”
The concern in his voice circumvented her defenses. Would he somehow be able to intervene on her behalf? One glance at her mother told Claire the woman was unsuccessful in changing her brother’s mind. Running Wolf was gesturing toward Claire, an adamant look on his chiseled face.
“Mademoiselle?”
With shame burning her cheeks, she told Lafayette what was taking place. The Frenchman’s eyes widened in disbelief, and then they flashed in anger. “A trade? You for a horse?”
He relayed the translation at once. Captain Lewis immediately turned on his heel, strode toward Running Wolf.
Mr. Lafayette squeezed her hand. “The captain will handle this,” he insisted.
No doubt he will, Claire thought, but just how and at what cost remained to be seen.
* * *
Pierre had known right away that something was terribly wrong. The vexing personality had instantly given way to a vulnerable creature in need of protection. Her small, delicate fingers trembled beneath his, and when she finally explained what was happening, he understood why. How dare her uncle seek to sell her! His father had once tried to persuade him to take a certain bride, one whose family name and fortune would benefit his own, but as a man, Pierre had the luxury to refuse.
I was able to retain my freedom, but odds are she will not be able to do so.
If she struck out on her own, she’d have little chance for finding gainful, meaningful employment. She’d probably end up the captive of some drunken fur trader or worse, a slave to the Sioux.
Standing, he made himself a shield between her and her uncle. The code of a gentleman, let alone Christian decency, would not allow him to stand by and watch such a thing take place. His captains had warned him and the other men of the expedition not to interfere with tribal customs because doing so could upset the delicate balance of diplomacy they had achieved. Pierre, however, was prepared to defend her freedom if need be even if no one else would. Though he desperately hoped such measures would not be necessary.
Madame Manette stood beside her imposing brother, the young child Spotted Eagle protectively in her grasp. Running Wolf was intensely gesturing to both captains. A scowl filled his face. The Americans looked no more cordial. Lewis stood with his arms crossed. Clark held tightly to his musket. To their right, Pierre glimpsed Sergeants Ordway and Gass. They were poised to take action should either captain signal for it.
A standoff was underway. I wanted adventure, he thought. It appears I have found it.
One of Pierre’s fellow voyagers sidled up to him. “What did you do, Lafayette?” he asked with half a laugh. “Steal some warrior’s squaw?”
“Certainly not,” Pierre insisted, his teeth clenched. “And you had better have the sense to realize the danger in doing so.” The man had recently been the cause of his own entanglement with a Mandan woman and a jealous husband, one Captain Clark had been forced to settle.
Women could very well be the death of this expedition, Pierre thought. Yet he could hardly blame the girl behind him. She has obviously had no part in this.
Pierre watched as Captain Lewis turned for his quarters. After a few moments, the man returned and presented Running Wolf with a small ax and several other useful tools. The Mandan warrior did not look pleased. He directed his frown toward his niece. Coming again to her feet, Mademoiselle Manette stepped to Pierre’s shoulder. She held her uncle’s look with one of quiet strength and apparent courage, but he could hear the unevenness of her breathing. She was scared to death.
God help her, he thought. Help us all...
Running Wolf turned and mounted the captain’s horse. Signaling for Spotted Eagle to join him, the two rode from the fort. Watching them go, Pierre knew not what to think. He’d been certain either the horse would remain or the women would depart.
What has just happened? Has Captain Lewis actually made the trade? Had his superior officer just purchased a maidservant? A wife? Pierre felt the knot in his stomach tighten. Mademoiselle Manette drew in a sharp breath but other than that made no sound or protest. She simply lowered her gaze to the ground, like a condemned prisoner accepting her fate.
The main gate now barred, Captain Lewis directed Madame Manette toward his quarters. Captain Clark escorted her. Lewis then approached the fire where Pierre and the younger woman stood. He stole another glance at her. Cheeks red, she still stared at the ground.
“Lafayette,” Lewis said.
“Sir?”
“Please tell her that she has nothing to fear. Her uncle has been placated, although I had to deliver her payment to him for the services she rendered today.”
So she hasn’t been bought. Pierre heaved a sigh. However, as far as her uncle having been placated, the warrior had looked anything but. Pierre was certain further trouble with him loomed on the horizon. Still, Pierre moved to translate what the captain had said, forgetting once again that the mademoiselle was capable of understanding for herself. This time, though, she gave no look of annoyance.
Instead she curtsied, rather unsteadily, to both him and the captain. “Merci,” she replied, her voice wavering.
“What happens now, sir?” Pierre asked, for her benefit as well as his own.
“She and her mother will remain here,” Lewis said. “She will finish her task.” He turned on his heel, marched away without further word. Pierre supposed he couldn’t fault the man for doing so. He was, after all, a soldier, one use to issuing commands and expecting them to be obeyed. Rigidity and routine were necessary, especially on such an expedition, but Pierre couldn’t help but think that in this case, a bit more compassion was merited.
Did the young woman wish to stay? Did she wish to continue her work after what she had just witnessed? But on the other hand, if she left, then where could she go?
She was now gathering up the soldiers’ clothing, the pieces she’d been mending. Pierre bent to help her. “Merci,” she said once more. The tremble in her voice remained.
Carrying the items, he escorted her toward her quarters. Part of him was in mind to stand guard outside her door all night, but he knew that was unnecessary. Lewis and Clark had handled the situation, at least for now, and there would be sentries posted at the gate all night.
Still, he felt the need to say something.
“I apologize for what just took place,” he said, “but I am certain you will be well-protected at this fort.”
She seemed to appreciate his apology, but he wasn’t so certain she believed him about her safety. That look of vulnerability remained in her eyes.
“You have shown me much kindness today,” she said, “and for that, I thank you.”
He had tried to show her kindness from the first moment he’d met her, but she didn’t seem to realize that. “Have no fear, mademoiselle,” Pierre said. “Your safety and that of your mother’s will be my personal concern.”
For a moment, her green eyes held him, pinned him like a butterfly beneath glass, a creature bereft of freedom. He had little fear when it came to venturing into the wilds, but this was a frightening feeling. Still, he could not look away.
“You have already demonstrated great concern, Mr. Lafayette,” she said, “and for that, again, I thank you.”
As sincere as he was about protecting her, he was glad when she took the clothing from him, stepped inside her quarters and shut the door.
* * *
With dutiful resolve, Claire replaced the tallow candle that had burned down to a nub, stirred the small fire and then sorted through the soldiers’ clothing. Despite what had just happened, she was determined to continue with her tasks, determined to walk the path before her with faith and courage.
If I give in to fear, to self-pity, it shows my lack of trust for the Lord. If I, who claim to know Him, cannot trust Him, then how can I expect others to do so?
Regrettably she knew she’d already given in to such fears. Her anxiety must have shown on her face or Mr. Lafayette would not have spoken to her the way he did. He knew she was frightened. So did her mother.
The moment Evening Sky returned to the room, she laid aside the bolt of fabric she had been carrying and came to her daughter at once. Wrapping her arms around Claire, she cradled her close, rocking her as if she were still a fragile child.
“Oh, my Bright Star. How sorry I am. How sorry. Never in all my thoughts have I imagined my brother capable of breaking his word. He promised me he would never offer you to a man before a year, and even at that, not without my blessing. Forgive me. Forgive me for ever bringing you to such a place.”
Yes, her mother had brought her to Running Wolf’s lodge, but they’d had no choice. There was nowhere else to go. Tears spilled down Claire’s cheeks, a release of pent-up emotions. “Did he say why he had changed the terms of our agreement?”
“He claims he has not.”
“But he has indeed!”
“He claims that we misunderstood him, that the time of twelve moons of mourning began not at our arrival but at the time of your father’s passing.”
Her father had died last December. They had remained in Illinois for six months before traveling here. If Running Wolf was basing his calculations on that, then her year was complete. “Oh, Mother! What am I to do?”
Evening Sky wiped her own tears, took her daughter’s hand in hers. “The Great Spirit has been our shield and defender in the past, and in Him we must continue to have faith. He provided safety for you at this fort tonight. The dark-haired Frenchman guarded you, and the American officers succeeded in sending Running Wolf away.”
Claire vividly remembered the look on Mr. Lafayette’s face, the feel of his fingers over hers. His hands were rough, gnarled, but they had conveyed tenderness and compassion. He’d displayed true Christian charity. He’d defended a woman he barely knew, and he had offered his assistance without command or promise of reward.
“I did not understand their words, but I could see their hearts,” Evening Sky said. “The officers did not like giving your earnings to my brother. But I believe because of their willingness to do so, Running Wolf was willing to grant you a reprieve from marriage.”
Hope quickened in Claire’s chest. “A reprieve? For how long?”
“Until the ice on the Missouri melts and the white men go their own way.”
This meant March or early April at the most.
“Much could still happen in that space of time,” her mother reminded her.
“Yes,” Claire replied, though barely above a whisper. She tried to have faith. Much could happen. A warrior of the tribe could come to salvation or her uncle could, and then he would understand why I do not wish to marry outside my faith.
Her mother smiled at her softly, then turned and reached for the fabric. “The officers made a gift to you,” Evening Sky said. “The one with the three-corner hat said it is for leggings, but I think he meant to say the word dress.”
A dress? Claire remembered the indignation she’d felt and shown to Mr. Lafayette when he mentioned payment for her services. The Mandan part of her said dried corn or venison would have been a more useful gift, but the French side of her appreciated the gesture. The thick scarlet broadcloth was beautiful, and it had been a long time since she had worn anything besides animal skin.
“It is a kind and generous gift,” Claire replied. “I will be certain to thank them.”
“It reminds me of the bright berries your father used to fill our cabin with at Christmastime.”
“Indeed.” Claire sighed over the memory. Just a few days from now would mark the celebration of the Savior’s birth, the salvation offered for all who believed. The moccasins Evening Sky was crafting were a present for her brother just for the occasion. She had hoped by offering that gift, he would better understand the gift that God had offered him.
“I shall make a dress for you for Christmas,” Evening Sky insisted.
Claire was deeply touched but wanted to tell her not to go to the trouble. Such an article of clothing was unnecessary and certainly impractical for the life she now lived, but she could see the determination in Evening Sky’s eyes, the desire to show love, to give Claire some semblance of the life she had once shared with her beloved father. She sensed how desperately Claire longed for such, especially tonight.
Running Wolf and the rest of their family would not celebrate Christmas, and now, given what had just happened, Claire wondered if her uncle would even tolerate their prayers and gifts, their lack of participation in certain tribal customs.
Heaviness weighed upon her once more. Faith battled fear, and for the moment the latter was winning. Yes, God had protected her tonight. Would He continue to do so? She had been offered up to strangers by her own flesh and blood. Mr. Lafayette and the American captains had defended her honor, but the day would come when she and her mother would have to return to the village, return to Running Wolf’s lodge. The ice on the Missouri would eventually melt. What lay in store for her then?
Chapter Four (#uab98e6a2-93c6-51d4-a7fa-d27ee6a0d2ec)
Pierre lay in the darkness, unable to sleep. It wasn’t the snores filling the enlisted men’s quarters that kept him awake. It was the thought of Miss Manette lying in the cabin next door. Had she fallen asleep or was she, like him, staring wide-eyed at the timber ceiling, wondering what the sunrise would bring? Was she even thinking of him at all?
Probably not, he thought, nor should she be. He told himself he need not think of her any further, either. His captains had acted honorably on her behalf. They had issued orders stating no soldier was to make any trade with Running Wolf. I should leave the matter in their hands.
But he couldn’t stop himself from feeling concerned. Never in his life had Pierre felt such a kinship with another person as he had when he’d learned of her uncle’s plan. Never before had he found himself praying so fervently for a person he scarcely knew.
All was calm now, but eventually Miss Manette would leave the protection of this fort. By spring the expedition would be on their way. Then what? What of the next visitors to this land? Will her uncle seek to broker a deal with one of them? Pierre’s indignation burned. He and the rest of the men had been warned not to interfere in Indian affairs, that the consequences could be disastrous, not only to them but also to any other trader who would later venture this way. But I will not see her returned to a man who treats her with such disregard. Upon my word, I will not, for she clearly did not wish to be bound to her uncle’s plan any more than I had wished to be part of my father’s. She should be given a choice in whom she would marry...if she wishes to marry at all.
But just what he would do to encourage that, Pierre did not know. Advocating such a radical idea in New Orleans, let alone an Indian village, would surely be met with contempt.
He tossed and turned for hours. When reveille sounded, Pierre slipped from his bedding with no more rest gained than when he had entered it, and Miss Manette was no less on his mind. Shivering like his comrades, he hurried to layer on his furs and buckskin. The cold, however, still seeped through his clothing. This morning the mercury stood at twenty below.
We wanted to test our mettle, he thought. These temperatures and trials will certainly do so.
Puling on his last layer of clothing, Pierre pushed open the door and stepped into the snow. Despite the stinging cold, the fort was stirring to life. On the catwalk, the changing of the guard was taking place, the sentries gladly relinquishing their posts to the morning men. To Pierre’s left, the blacksmith was stoking his fire. When the men were all assembled, Captain Clark issued the orders for the day. Breakfast was then served.
Pierre kept a casual watch, but neither Miss Manette nor her mother appeared for their allotted portion of food. Were they still sleeping, or did embarrassment over last night’s events keep them inside?
After swallowing the last of his breakfast, Pierre knocked upon the women’s door.
It creaked open. He wasn’t exactly sure what he had expected to find this morning, but gone was the trembling child from the previous night. A stoic expression filled the mademoiselle’s face. Dark circles lined her eyes. She had slept as little as he.
“You are unwell,” Pierre said.
She shook her head. “Not I.” Slipping through the door, she shut it behind her. A gust of wind tightened her face. She pulled her buffalo robe closer about her. “It is my mother,” she said. “My uncle—” She rephrased. “The events of the preceding evening were too much for her. She is exhausted.”
Obviously she did not wish to relive the details that had occurred, so Pierre made no further mention of them. He felt bad for her mother. “Perhaps a little food? I could bring you both something.”
“Thank you, but I am not hungry. I suggested that my mother eat, but she says she has no stomach for it.”
Then she must be in a bad way, he thought. This cold made him ravenously hungry. “Shall I seek Captain Lewis? Perhaps he has a remedy—”
“No, but thank you. My mother insists all she needs is rest.”
Pierre nodded. He would see to it, then, that she could do so. “I shall leave you to care for her.” He bowed to her formally. “If I may be of any assistance, do not hesitate to ask.”
A measure of surprise skittered across her face, followed by a look of shy pleasure. Apparently she’d expected him to insist that they complete their duties. Yes, the language study was important, but so was her mother’s health. Surely the captains would understand.
“Thank you, Mr. Lafayette. You are very kind.”
It was a simple expression of appreciation, genuine no doubt, but little more than that. Yet for some strange reason, Pierre was warmed by it. “Well, then...a good morning to you.” He tipped his hat, started to turn.
“If I may...”
The uncharacteristic softness in her voice stopped him in his tracks. He looked back. Falling snowflakes dusted her rich, dark hair, making it look as though she was wearing a crown of diamonds.
“I shall look over the parchments from yesterday and consider what words you may wish to add.”
So she desired to be of assistance to him. Evidently she was warming to him, as well, or at least becoming less distrustful. He was glad. Perhaps now they could work together as friends. In the long run it would certainly be beneficial to maintaining peaceful relations with the tribe and the expedition if they could do so.
And beyond that, she was an interesting woman. She was Indian, but she was also French. In some small way, she reminded him of his sister, delicate but tough. For all of his want of adventure, there were times when he missed his family.
“I would be grateful for whatever words you think beneficial,” he said.
With a quick curtsy she then stepped back inside, shut the door solidly in front of him. For some strange reason he continued to stare at it. An odd feeling of intrigue and discomfort flittered through him.
He marched to his officers’ quarters. With this change of plans, perhaps Captain Lewis might now allow him to join Captain Clark’s hunting party. To Pierre’s disappointment, however, Clark had already departed the fort. Lewis sent him instead to split wood on the parade ground. Working within sight of Mademoiselle Manette’s door did little to clear her from his mind.
* * *
“You should have let him come in,” Evening Sky whispered from beneath the buffalo skins. “He has tasks to complete.”
Claire laid the parchments on the desk and stirred the small fire. “I told him I would work on what I could. He did not insist on being present.”
“He is a kind gentleman.”
“Yes. I think so.”
“I’m pleased you are letting go of your fear. Not all white men are like Mr. Granger.”
Claire nodded slowly as she studied her mother’s face in the candlelight. Her coloring did not look good. This is more than the strain of last night, she thought.
“Shall I make you some tea?” Claire offered. “Something to ward off the chill?”
Evening Sky shook her head. “No, Bright Star. Not today.” She grimaced. The expression was almost imperceptible, but Claire recognized pain when she saw it.
“Where does it hurt, mother? Your legs?”
“No, child.”
“Your loins?”
Evening Sky simply closed her eyes.
“The Frenchman offered to ask for a remedy from his captain. Shall I fetch him?”
“No, child. Do not bother the men.” Evening Sky shifted beneath the skins, turned toward the wall. Claire understood the movement. It was a sign that her mother did not want to be questioned further. Claire would honor her wish, but she wasn’t the least bit happy about doing so.
If I do not know exactly what is wrong, then how can I help her?
Whispering a prayer, she then went to the desk. She unrolled Mr. Lafayette’s parchments and, after studying them for a few moments, wrote down a few more phrases of friendship and some words that would be useful in trade.
Trade. Her heart squeezed. She remembered all too vividly what Running Wolf had wished to trade last night. How could he? she thought. He is my uncle. My mother’s brother. My own flesh and blood. Being given in marriage to a fellow tribesman was bad enough, but at least she could understand his reasoning. That was the way things were done here in the wilderness, and it was an arrangement that would benefit the tribe. She might not like it. She might seek to change it, but for now that was how it was done.
In a land of war, one way to assure the continued existence of the tribe was by begetting new families. But to offer me to strangers, to men whose customs are so different from his own...? Did he think she would be happier bound to a white man, or did he simply wish to be rid of her? Had her curious ways, her faith, been a thorn in his flesh for too long?
She could feel the tears pooling in her eyes but quickly steeled her resolve. There was no point thinking such things. She was safe for now. There was still time to find a Christian husband. God could do mighty things. As much as she feared being bound to a man to whom she was not well-suited, she was not against marriage. What would it be like to know love, to share a deep, abiding commitment, to experience the joy her parents had once had? What would it be like to be held tightly on cold, dark nights, have words of endearment whispered in her ear?
But I will live without such things if it means being asked to marry a man who does not serve God.
Claire cast a glance in Evening Sky’s direction. She was now sleeping peacefully. Claire returned to her parchments and tried to focus on the task at hand.
Outside someone was chopping wood. Claire scratched her list in time with the rhythmic thwacking of the ax. Morning moved toward noon. There was no window in her hut, no way to mark the sun’s advance across the sky, but Claire could estimate the time by the sounds. She could hear the second changing of the guard.
She kept on writing. The captains wished to learn about the Mandan’s religious beliefs, so Claire gave an account of their beliefs on creation, the great flood and the story of the Lone Man. Her heart grew heavier with each paragraph, considerably as she listed out the details of the Okipa ceremony.
She had never actually seen the ceremony take place, for women were not allowed to view it, but she had witnessed the effects of it when she first arrived in the village. Hoping to gain the Great Spirit’s favor, young warriors were starved and mutilated. The parents of those who did not survive the process bore their shame.
How different life would be for my people if they could come to understand that God’s favor was not earned through suffering but given by grace... How different my life would be.
Claire dipped her quill in the ink. Evening Sky continued to sleep but stirred just before the call to supper. Her body was slow to rise, but her coloring had improved.
“Feeling better?” Claire asked.
“Yes.” Evening Sky then said she thought she might take a little nourishment.
“I’ll make you some tea and there are corn cakes keeping warm by the fire.”
Evening Sky nodded.
Claire brought her one of the cakes and then prepared the tea. It didn’t take long to warm the snow water and steep the herbs over the fire. As Claire brought the cup to her mother, the bugle sounded.
“Thank you, Bright Star,” she said. “Now go. Take your own meal at the big fire. I’ll be alright. I need nothing more.”
Claire had smelled the camp food cooking for more than an hour. She was hungry for more than corn cakes indeed but did not wish to leave her mother unattended.
Thankfully she did not have to, for a knock sounded upon the door. Claire opened it to find Mr. Lafayette standing at the threshold. He’d come bearing bread, venison stew and chicory coffee.
“I know you said you were not hungry earlier, but I couldn’t let you miss out on a feast such as this,” he said. When he smiled, Claire suddenly found herself wondering what he would look like without the beard. She imagined him quite handsome, in a polished, gentlemanly way.
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