Her mother smiled at her softly, then turned and reached for the fabric. “The officers made a gift to you,” Evening Sky said. “The one with the three-corner hat said it is for leggings, but I think he meant to say the word dress.”
A dress? Claire remembered the indignation she’d felt and shown to Mr. Lafayette when he mentioned payment for her services. The Mandan part of her said dried corn or venison would have been a more useful gift, but the French side of her appreciated the gesture. The thick scarlet broadcloth was beautiful, and it had been a long time since she had worn anything besides animal skin.
“It is a kind and generous gift,” Claire replied. “I will be certain to thank them.”
“It reminds me of the bright berries your father used to fill our cabin with at Christmastime.”
“Indeed.” Claire sighed over the memory. Just a few days from now would mark the celebration of the Savior’s birth, the salvation offered for all who believed. The moccasins Evening Sky was crafting were a present for her brother just for the occasion. She had hoped by offering that gift, he would better understand the gift that God had offered him.
“I shall make a dress for you for Christmas,” Evening Sky insisted.
Claire was deeply touched but wanted to tell her not to go to the trouble. Such an article of clothing was unnecessary and certainly impractical for the life she now lived, but she could see the determination in Evening Sky’s eyes, the desire to show love, to give Claire some semblance of the life she had once shared with her beloved father. She sensed how desperately Claire longed for such, especially tonight.
Running Wolf and the rest of their family would not celebrate Christmas, and now, given what had just happened, Claire wondered if her uncle would even tolerate their prayers and gifts, their lack of participation in certain tribal customs.
Heaviness weighed upon her once more. Faith battled fear, and for the moment the latter was winning. Yes, God had protected her tonight. Would He continue to do so? She had been offered up to strangers by her own flesh and blood. Mr. Lafayette and the American captains had defended her honor, but the day would come when she and her mother would have to return to the village, return to Running Wolf’s lodge. The ice on the Missouri would eventually melt. What lay in store for her then?
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.