She told Mr. Lafayette so immediately. Blinking, he stole a quick glance at his captain, then looked back at her.
“Tell him,” she said in French. “I will not stay. It is not proper.”
He repeated her message, but far less emphatically than how she had originally spoken. Captain Lewis looked taken aback.
Running Wolf didn’t need a translator to tell him something was wrong. He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, but when Claire explained the circumstances, he was not offended by the captain’s thoughtless request. He was angry with her.
“Do as the white chief says,” he ordered.
But this isn’t proper! He wouldn’t ask such if I were a white woman. Where am I to sleep? Sharing quarters with her blood relatives was one thing, a fort full of soldiers quite another.
The icy chill of fear caused her to shiver. Had her uncle counted on this? Is this his way of finding me a husband?
It was then that Mr. Lafayette spoke. “Perhaps, sir,” he said to Captain Lewis, “if mademoiselle’s mother were to stay on at the fort as a chaperone, the lady may be more apt to remain.”
The lady. Twice now he had referred to her in such a way. Was that how he saw her? Or was he simply saying what he thought she would want to hear? Mr. Granger back in Illinois had claimed to view her with respect and to care for her safety. It had been a lie.
Claire did not know what to think or whom to trust. She studied Mr. Lafayette, trying to discern the truth behind his words, but could garner little information. He had returned his gaze to his captain.
Captain Lewis blinked, and then looked chagrined, as if he’d only then realized the insensitivity of his plan. “Y-yes, of c-course,” he stammered. “My apologies, Miss Manette. That would be only proper. Will your uncle allow your mother to come? I understand and respect the hardship it will place on the rest of your family.”
Yes, it will be a hardship. There would be two fewer pairs of hands to cook, to sew, to tend to the children. Claire explained it to Running Wolf. When he frowned, she was certain he was going to tell Captain Lewis to forget the whole thing.
Good. That was what she hoped would happen.
“My sister cannot make the journey on foot,” he said. “She has weak legs. You must send a good horse for her.”
A good horse? Claire drew in a sharp breath. So she would be staying, after all. Reluctantly she relayed her uncle’s message.
“Yes, of course,” Captain Lewis said, “and we will return the horse to you after your sister’s arrival. You may have use of it until the women return home.”
This pleased Running Wolf, for the use of a white chief’s horse, even if only temporary, was a great honor. He nodded to the captain. “I will go now. I will bring her to you.”
“Then I’ll show you to your horse,” Lewis said. He turned to Mr. Lafayette. “Kindly escort Miss Manette to her quarters.”
The Frenchman snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.”
Heart thudding, Claire watched her uncle follow the tall American outside. She reminded herself that her time here at the fort would be short, her work only temporary, and that God would be with her. She also reminded herself she’d been given an opportunity to foster peace between two cultures. But will they listen?
Mr. Lafayette cleared his throat. “If you’ll follow me...”
Reluctantly she allowed him to lead her outside, down the row of wooden structures to a shack at the end of the line. He shoved open the door, found a candle and lit it. The area was so small that one would think it would retain heat well enough, but Claire doubted that would be the case. The hut was roughly the same size as the captains’ quarters. Even with a fire, that room had been cold and drafty.
My mother will not fare well in such a place. It would be better to reside in a Mandan lodge, she thought. Why couldn’t Captain Lewis simply send one of his men there to work with her on whatever translations he required?
“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