Shannon Farrington - Frontier Agreement

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?