Читать книгу Frontier Agreement - Shannon Farrington - Страница 11

Chapter Two

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.