Frontier Agreement Page 2

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 wom
en 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.