Shannon Farrington - Frontier Agreement

“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.