Frontier Agreement Page 7

  Madame Manette then said something else to her daughter. The younger woman shook her head in respectful protest, but the older woman persisted. If Pierre was reading the signs correctly, the mother thought the daughter could do with a bit of fresh air.

  After a nod, she then looked at him. “If your offer to escort me is still valid, then I would like to accept.”

  He wasn’t certain she would really like to, but she would respect her mother’s wishes. Pierre offered his arm. “Of course, mademoiselle. It would be my pleasure.”

  Chapter Five

  Claire rolled the parchments, secured them with a piece of sinew and then hesitantly took hold of Mr. Lafayette’s arm. She could feel the taut muscles beneath his sleeve. It was only her mother’s command that caused Claire to leave the hut. “You go with him, Bright Star,” she had said.

  Claire was disinclined to do so for more reasons than one. She was foremost embarrassed by her earlier behavior toward him when he had asked why she remained in the village. Why had she snapped at him for such a simple inquiry? The answer was quite clear to her. Anger and bitterness toward Mr. Granger still blackened her heart, and until she dealt with those feelings properly, she would be a prickly thorn in Mr. Lafayette’s flesh and a cause of grief to her mother. Neither of which she wanted.

  Second, her mother’s health made her hesitant to leave her unattended.

  “Are you not going to eat, as well?” she had asked Evening Sky. “You had little more than a bit of meal this morning.”

  Her mother had waved off her concern. “Do not fret over me, child. I have had my fill today. Go enjoy yourself.”

  Enjoy myself?

  How was Claire to do that when her feelings were so conflicted? She knew she must settle this issue in her heart with Mr. Granger once and for all. If she did not, there was little hope of her successfully sharing the light with her Mandan family. She could talk all she wanted about love and forgiveness, but if she was not practicing them herself...

  My uncle is a smart man. Surely he senses the discrepancy. God, please help me truly to forgive Mr. Granger. Help me to let go of my anger, my fears...

  And it wasn’t just the future her uncle planned for her that she feared. Claire did not enjoy being in such close proximity to the handsome young Frenchman. He made her feel skittish and off balance. Mr. Lafayette had the uncanny ability to provoke her to anger at one moment with his comments and then fluster her with his compassion in the next.

  “You love your family very much, don’t you?” he said as they walked toward the campfire. “But you worry for their well-being, especially your mother.”

  “I do.”

  “I imagine it must be difficult for her without your father.” He then added, “And difficult for you.”

  She nodded, but said nothing. That disconcerting feeling was rising inside her again. How could she feel the need to be so on guard with him and yet desire to open up to him at the same time?

  He found her a seat on a log, a spot where the wind would not force the smoke of the fire back into her face. A nearby soldier was already tuning up his fiddle. Evidently she’d dallied so long in the hut that most of the men had eaten their venison stew and bread and were now making attempts to claim seconds. She felt bad for endangering Mr. Lafayette’s chance at a meal and told him so.

  “That is no matter of concern,” he said with an easy smile, and then he managed to wrangle bowls of stew for them both.

  “Merci,” Claire said as she accepted a bowl from him. He sat down beside her.

  They ate in silence for a few moments till Claire felt the overwhelming urge to apologize to him once again.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Truly, I am. My frustration and my anger are not meant for you.”

  He nodded. “May I ask at whom they are directed?”

  Her jaw instantly tensed. He noticed.

  “Forget that I asked that,” he said. “I have no right to pry.”

  “No... I...” She sighed. “I have given you that right by my deplorable actions.”

  He looked at her with those deep charcoal eyes, not in an examining or judgmental way, but with an expression of kindness, friendship, a desire to understand.

  “My anger is directed at someone very far away,” she said. “A man named Phillip Granger.”

  “A white man?”

  She nodded. “He was a friend of my father’s.”

  He said nothing to that, but the look on his face begged her continue.

  “My father had provided amply for my mother and me in the event of his death,” she explained. “We were not wealthy, but we had all we needed. At the time of his death, there were money, supplies and property to support us, but the laws of Illinois did not allow such things to be passed from man to wife or father to daughter. My father had to sign his possessions over to his partner, Mr. Granger, on the promise that he would look after us.”

  A knowing look then came into Mr. Lafayette’s face. “And he didn’t—did he?”

  His voice was most sympathetic. Claire shook her head as tears began to blur her vision. She’d never discussed this with anyone besides her mother and her uncle when they had first arrived. Running Wolf had showed little sympathy.

  “Land belongs to no man,” he had said. “We are but caretakers of it.”

  Perhaps his attitude had been the right one. Even so, the pain cut deep. “Mr. Granger honored my father’s wishes for a mere sixty days, and then he told us the land, our cabin and everything inside it were his by law.”

  “He wanted you to leave.”

  “Yes. He told my mother that she was a worthless squaw and I, an ignorant half breed. He told us we were no longer welcome.”

  Mr. Lafayette’s eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe anyone would do such a thing. “So you came here.” He laid his hand upon hers, like he had done the night Running Wolf had stormed into the fort. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I am so sorry.”

  His apology was like a balm to her soul. It changed nothing of her circumstances, but emotionally, it helped to know someone understood her pain. “With no family to turn to but my mother’s, we arrived here, with little more than the clothes on our back.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said once more. “And I’m sorry for what I said earlier—for asking why you chose to remain here...and my comment about ‘proper society.’”

  “No. It is I who am sorry...”

  “Think no more of it. I understand now why you were so wary of me, why you were so angry. I would be, as well.”

  She drew in a breath. “You asked me why I stayed here,” she said. “That’s why, but there is another reason...the task to which I hope to rise.”

  “These are your people,” he said, “and you want them to hear the truth.”

  She nodded once more, tears trickling down her cheeks. “But I fear I am a poor instrument for heralding it.”

  “No,” he said. “You understand the harsh cruelty of life better than most. Greed, betrayal, the struggle to forgive...does not your Mandan family deal with these very same issues? Broken tribal alliances, war...is this not the way of life in this land?”

  “It is.”

  “God can help you to forgive. He can take away your fears... I’ll pray for you.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Do not lose faith,” he said. “Darkness will not always cover this land.”

  “How are you so certain?”

  He smiled. “You and your mother are here.”

  Claire appreciated his encouragement, his belief in her.

  He let go of her hand, returned to his stew. After a few moments he asked, “Will you tell me about your father?”

  She told him about her life in Illinois before his passing, about her father’s fiddle and the
Bible from which he had read. The concepts of love, duty and sacrifice she had learned from him.

  “He sounds as though he was a Godly man.”

  “He was.” Her throat was further tightening. She hoped by shifting the subject slightly, she could gain better control of her emotions. “What about you? Do you come from a large family?”

  “Not by some standards,” he replied. “There are my mother and father, and I’ve two younger brothers and a younger sister.”

  “And grandparents? Aunts and uncles?” she asked.

  “Yes, but they live in France.” He smiled reminiscently. “Both my mother’s family and my father’s thought it foolish to leave Paris for the backwater of lower Louisiana, but my father believed New Orleans to be a profitable port, and he wished for adventure, the chance to make a name for himself.”

  “And your mother?” Claire asked.

  “My mother was less enthusiastic about all of it, but she agreed to come with him.” He blew out a breath. “Now history repeats itself.”

  “In what way?”

  “When I chose to leave my father’s now profitable shipping business to seek adventure and my own fortune, he said I was the fool.”

  Although she’d give anything to have her father back, she couldn’t argue against Mr. Lafayette’s desire to find his own path, even if it had been against his father’s wishes. François Manette had done the same. He’d left France first for Quebec, then moved on to Illinois.

  “Do you miss him?” she asked.

  “Yes...and it grieves me that our relationship is strained.”

  “It is a man’s nature to strike out on his own,” she said. “I suppose it is a parent’s nature to wish to safeguard his child.”

  “Yes, but he wanted to do more than safeguard me.”

  “He wanted to control you?”

  “In a way. He wanted me to marry.”

  “To marry?” Of all the possible points of conflict between a father and son, she had not expected that one.

  “He wanted me to marry a girl he had chosen. A girl I did not love.”

  Claire heaved a sigh. There was another moment of silence.

  “So,” he then said, “while our circumstances may not be exactly the same, you and I do share a common bond. I know what it is like to feel trapped by family expectations. I know how hard it is to forgive.”

  “I see...”

  “Shared experiences make for comradeship,” he said, “or dare I hope friendship?”

  Friendship. She would appreciate a friend, and she could tell based on what she had seen of his character thus far that his wish was sincere, unlike Mr. Granger’s, who had pretended to be a protector, a helper, but in reality was looking to help only himself. “I would appreciate that.”

  He offered her a handsome smile. “May I be so impertinent, then, as to presume that if I promise to pray for you, you will pray for me?”

  She returned his smile. “Of course. It would be my honor to do so.”

  They returned to their meal. Fiddle music drifted through the air, a somewhat melancholy tune, as if the soldier playing it was thinking of his own family.

  “You know,” Mr. Lafayette then said, “there was one thing for which I always respected the Spanish.”

  She was a bit taken aback by the sudden turn in the conversation but followed its course. “What is that?”

  “When the Spanish controlled upper Louisiana, they allowed women to hold property. Unfortunately, when France laid claim, that right was taken away.”

  “And now this area belongs to America,” she said ruefully, “and in time it will be subject to the same laws as Illinois.”

  “Well, perhaps that is something people like us can change,” he said.

  She smiled at his hopefulness. It was too late for her. The land in Illinois was gone, but in the light of eternity... She remembered what he had said before, that darkness would not always cover this land. “You and your mother are here.” And now, so was he. “I appreciate your graciousness, Mr. Lafayette, and I appreciate your friendship.”

  He offered her a warm smile. “And I appreciate yours, mademoiselle.”

  Silence reigned between them for a few moments as they occupied themselves with their stew. Conversation and men’s laughter drifted about them. The fiddle continued to play. Now it carried a livelier tune. One of the soldiers was dancing awkwardly.

  “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve,” Mr. Lafayette then said.

  “Indeed.” It was the time for prayers and carols. The time when children left their small shoes by the fire, expecting Père Noël to fill them with gifts. She wondered if Mr. Lafayette had participated as a child. And now, being so far from home, does he long for the closeness of family? Would he pass the holiest night of the year in prayerful vigil for them?

  Will he pray for mine? She felt certain that he would, and that strengthened her.

  He ate what remained of his food. Claire saved the last of hers. The men of the fort had eaten all that had been prepared. I’ll take this portion back to Mother. Perhaps she will be hungry when she wakes.

  Concern for her pushed Claire to her feet. “I should go.”

  “Won’t you stay a little longer?” he asked.

  The declaration of friendship aside, a strange feeling welled up inside her, a mixture of pleasure and pride. He wanted her to stay because he wanted to engage her further in conversation. He wished for her company.

  She wanted to stay, as well, but her sense of duty would not allow it. “Thank you, but my mother... I do not wish to leave her alone too long.” She saw the disappointment in his face, and that strange feeling grew. “And with tomorrow being Christmas Eve, I expect the captains will wish for us to gain an early start on our work.”

  “I suppose,” he said. “Perhaps it is best to retire early.”

  “Yes. Good night.” She started to turn.

  “Mademoiselle Manette...”

  “Yes?”

  “Would you—” he hesitated “—would you permit me a dance?”

  “A dance?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that. Her head told her it was a foolish, insensitive request. What room was there for frivolous merrymaking when both physical and eternal conditions here in the wilderness were so desperate? Yet her heart said one dance would not hurt. It was, after all, Christmas.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lafayette. It would be my honor to partner with you.”

  “Pierre.” He saw the confusion on her face. “My name is Pierre,” he explained.

  “Oh.”

  She did not give him permission to use her given name. Friends or not, it did not seem right. Thanking him, she turned for her hut. As she laid her hand to the latch, her mother’s command passed through her mind. “Go enjoy yourself.”

  In spite of the awkward conversation at first, she had enjoyed herself tonight. She had enjoyed his company, enjoyed hearing of his family. For a few moments, she had forgotten what her uncle had done and what potential consequences awaited her upon her return to his lodge.

  And now, as silly as it sounded, she found herself looking forward to tomorrow night’s dance immensely.

  * * *

  The day before Christmas passed in the usual way. The bugler trumpeted the dawn. Men hastily dressed and assembled on the parade ground. Weapons were inspected. Sentries were changed. Immediately following breakfast, Pierre and Miss Manette began their work.

  Upon entrance to their hut, Madame Manette greeted Pierre with a smile. She looked cheerful and well this morning. As she sewed, she hummed a French carol. Her daughter, however, was less lively; in fact, a near frown creased her forehead. Pierre couldn’t help but wonder if he was the cause of her consternation. Had he made a mistake in asking
her for a dance? In doing so, had he given her the impression that he was somehow romantically interested in her?

  I’m not. Miss Manette is simply a friend. She speaks my language. She shares my faith. He marveled at the depth of her faith, respected her commitment. He remembered the look on her face when she thought she’d been bought by Captain Lewis. She’d resigned herself to the fate of servitude. She’d accepted the supposed sale without protest for the sake of family unity. Would I be willing to sacrifice my own dreams for the sake of another? he wondered.

  Yes, she was pretty. Yes, she could at times be quite charming, but he was not interested in courting and definitely not interested in taking a wife. At that last thought, he laughed to himself. He had a habit of making more of situations than they actually were, and he knew he was doing it again right now. I asked Miss Manette for a dance, not a kiss, not a lifetime. A dance, that’s all.

  There was no risk. He had no dishonorable intentions, and she clearly had no romantic interest in him. The thought of that stung his male pride a bit, but his good sense told him that was a blessing.

  We are friends, and as friends we can certainly share a conversation, a dance or two without speculation or entanglement. If she is somehow put off by my request, I will simply withdraw it.

  She never said that, however, and he didn’t ask. They simply continued their work.

  Madame Manette then said something to her daughter in Mandan. Despite his language lessons, he still couldn’t understand. He thought he heard the word night, but that was about all. He looked to the younger woman.

  “My mother asks if there will be any services tonight,” she explained.

  Pierre blinked. “Services?”

  “Worship services.”

  “Oh. I don’t believe so.” While the captains had encouraged each man to worship according to the dictates of his own conscience, there were rarely any formal observances. The women looked disappointed. “I’m certain there will be some singing of carols,” Pierre said, “and if you’d like...I could read a passage or two of Scripture.”