Читать книгу Frontier Agreement - Shannon Farrington - Страница 13

Chapter Four

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.