by Mary Dillon
CHAPTER VII
I TWINE CHRISTMAS GREENS
"Woman's at best a contradiction still."
Yorke had reached the picnic-ground just long enough ahead of us tocreate pandemonium. He had reported both mademoiselle and me as killedand scalped by this time, and a band of a hundred savages, with thechevalier at their head, on their way to the picnic.
The massacre of 1780 was still fresh enough in the memory of St. Louisfolk to make this seem no improbable tale, and the utmost confusionensued. Some of the young men, with Josef Papin and Gabriel Cerre attheir head, were for going at once to our rescue; but the maidensimplored, and Yorke averred it was too late, and reported the savagesin such numbers as would make such an undertaking only foolhardy. (Andby this you must not judge Yorke a villain and a coward; he would havebeen the first to volunteer and the loudest to urge on the others, buthe had heard Fatima's hoofs behind him, and knew we were safe, and,rascal that he was, could not resist his practical joke nor his negrolove of producing a great effect.)
Into this wild pandemonium of women screaming unintelligible cries toeach other as they hastily got together their belongings and packedthem into charrettes and saddle-bags, amid sobbings and wailings, andmen shouting hoarsely to mustang and pony as they struggled with bitand bridle, mademoiselle and I rode; and their joy at seeing us alive,and our hair still on our heads, knew no bounds.
I told them the true state of the case--that there were not more thana dozen or twenty of the savages at the most, and I hardly thought thechevalier would bring them down upon us. Yet, knowing that he might bein a mood for risking everything to recapture mademoiselle, Irecommended that the men form themselves into two bands to ride in thefront and in the rear, with the maidens between the two, and to startat once. We could go no faster, of course, than the charrettes couldgo, and the savages could easily overtake us if they desired; but Idid not believe they would dare, for our numbers were greater thantheirs, and the young men were all well armed.
Mademoiselle had recovered from her fainting, but was still white andweak. And because I did not believe she was able to sit La Bette, Irecommended that she ride in Josef Papin's charrette with MademoiselleChouteau and let Josef ride her horse. We two, young Papin and I,brought up the rear; and I did not see mademoiselle again except once,for a moment, when we were crossing La Petite Riviere, and I rode upby her side to see that the charrette went steadily through the water.Her head was on Mademoiselle Chouteau's shoulder, who was supportingher with her arm. Her eyes were closed, and Mademoiselle Chouteauwhispered to me, "She is asleep!" but at that she opened her eyesquickly and looked up at me. She tried to smile, but I think theterror of it all was still strongly with her. She said:
"I have not thanked you, monsieur; but I know I owe you my liberty, ifnot my life, and I am not ungrateful."
It was very sweetly said, but there was a horrible fear at my heartthat she would rather have been captured by the redskins, and goneaway with the Chevalier Le Moyne, than to have been rescued by me.
Just at the stockade we met a party of horsemen. Dr. Saugrain and mycaptain were in the lead with Black Hawk, who had reported Red Jeanwith a band of Osages lurking in the woods, and they were on their wayto clear them out, lest they molest the picnic or the village. Amid ababble of excitement, every one trying to talk at once, our tale wastold. And as Dr. Saugrain and my captain thought it was best to go onand try to capture the chevalier and his band, and as our escort wasno longer needed for the maidens, I turned my horse and rode back withthem to find the chevalier.
I confess it would have done me good to bring him in a captive, but Iwas doomed to disappointment. We scoured the woods, and the onlytraces we found of him and his band were the prints of horses' hoofsgoing south,--a dozen horses, I should think,--and, just where RockSpring bubbles up in a silver fountain, a torn and bloody lacehandkerchief. I gave the good doctor a full account of theconversation I had listened to, and he ground his teeth with rage atthe chevalier's duplicity. He was much touched at Pelagie's chivalrousdefense of him; yet, as delicately as I could, I tried to tell himthat at the very last I feared the chevalier had succeeded ininsinuating some seeds of doubt and suspicion in mademoiselle's mind.The doctor and my captain both agreed that it was time to tell Pelagiethe full truth of the matter. She should know all about herself andher expectations, and who were her friends and who her foes.
I was curious to see what effect the revelation would have upon her;or it could hardly be called a revelation, since the chevalier hadalready revealed it--rather the confirmation of his tale. But in that,too, I was doomed to disappointment. She was ill for several days andconfined to her room,--the effect of the excitement she had passedthrough,--and before she was well enough to be about again, my captainand I had set off, with Black Hawk as guide and Yorke as factotum, tomake a visit to Daniel Boone at his home on the Missouri River.
We found the grand old man as happy as a child in the beautiful homehe had at last made for himself and his family at the very outposts ofcivilization. We were gone four weeks, exploring the woods andmountains and rolling prairies of the beautiful country, and cominghome on a great flatboat down the swiftly rolling Missouri, past FortBellefontaine, where the Missouri empties into the Mississippi (wherewe were royally entertained by the Spanish commandant), and so atlast by the Mississippi back to St. Louis.
I found myself trembling with a mingling of fearful and pleasantanticipations as I rode up the steep bluff on Fatima's back, and wetook the Rue de l'Eglise to Dr. Saugrain's house.
It was the day before Christmas, and I had not remembered it; but aswe passed the church in the rear of Auguste Chouteau's place, throughthe open doors we could see young men and maidens winding longgarlands of Christmas greens and festooning them over doors andwindows, while shouts of merry laughter floated out to us. I was fordrawing rein and going in to help with the trimming; but my captain(who, I believe, was shy of the maidens) insisted we must first payour respects to our host.
The little doctor met us at the gate with a beaming face, and whenNarcisse and Yorke had led away our horses we entered once more thelong, low room we had first entered nearly two months before. Thewindows were no longer open, looking out into cool green foliage, withwhite muslin curtains stirring in the breeze, and there was no maidenin a white robe, with the blue ribbon of a guitar across hershoulders, singing creole love-songs. Instead, crimson damask curtainswere falling over the white ones, and a great fire of logs was blazingin one end of the room, looking cozy and cheery enough on this crispDecember day.
Yet, in spite of its coziness, I thought it had a dreary look. Leonwas lying before the fire, and though he looked at me a littledoubtfully, as he slowly rose and shook himself, I felt a rush offriendliness toward him, and showed it so plainly, as I called him tome, that at last he capitulated, and we have ever since been the bestof friends.
Then Madame Saugrain came running in, flushed and rosy from thekitchen, where she had been superintending the baking of Christmastarts and croquecignolles, and bringing with her appetizing whiffs ofroasting and frying. My captain laughingly told her that the goodsmells made him hungry.
"You shall come and see," she said; and led us into the great kitchen,where, on tables as white as snow, were piled heaps of golden-browncroquecignolles, cut in curious patterns, and the big black cook wasdropping still more into the kettle of boiling fat, and bringing outpuffy and wondrously shaped birds and beasts. Narcisse, on his kneeson the hearth, was turning two great fowls suspended before the fire,from which oozed such rich and savory gravy as made one smack hislips. On another table a huge venison pasty and tarts and cakes ofmany kinds were temptingly arrayed, and madame's pride in herhousewifely preparations for the Christmas feasting was pretty to see.She would have us taste her croquecignolles and little cakes, and hada glass of gooseberry wine brought out of the store-room for each ofus, and we drank it standing in the kitchen, and helping ourselvesfrom the pile of croquecignolles.
But
kind and charming as was madame, and toothsome as were her cakes,and much as her gooseberry wine tickled our palates, I was yet onnettles to be gone and join the young people at the church. Whethermadame guessed it or whether it was just one of her kindly thoughts,she said in her motherly way:
"But, my son, you should be at the church. The maidens will be vexedwith me if I keep you talking to an old woman, when they might behaving your help with the wreaths."
"If you think they need me?" and I tried to look as if only a sternsense of duty could induce me to go.
Madame Saugrain laughed, with the merry twinkle in her eye that madeher as captivating as a young maiden.
"Allons donc!" she said. "Quel garcon!" And with my best bow to herand a salute to my captain and the good doctor, I whistled to Leon toaccompany me and strode quickly down the road toward the littlechurch.
But as I neared it I slackened my pace, and but for very shame I wouldhave turned and fled again to the shelter of madame's motherly smile.I had not seen Mademoiselle Pelagie since the day of the picnic, and Iwas much in doubt whether she regarded me as her rescuer to beesteemed with grateful and friendly feeling, or as the cause of theloss of a dear friend, perhaps a lover. I felt very sure I would beable to tell at our first meeting in which light I was held, and,screwing up all my courage, I made a bold dash for the church door.
Scarcely had my shadow darkened the doorway when I was surrounded byan eager group, saluting me with every form of friendly welcome backto St. Louis; but the face I looked for was not among them.Mademoiselle Chouteau and Mademoiselle Papin seized me, one by eitherarm, and led me to a great pile of greens, and would have set me atonce to work in tying them to long ropes. But I begged them to permitme first to pay my respects to the rest of my friends; for over in adark corner I had seen Pelagie at work, with two or three young menaround her, supplying her with greens for her nimble fingers to weaveinto garlands, and she had not come with the others to greet me. Ithought at least that little courtesy was due me, for, whether sheliked or resented my rescuing her, I had risked much in the doing ofit.
I was filled with bitterness toward her, but could have no more keptaway from her than the moth from the flame. My bitterness now gave mecourage, and I sauntered up to her with what I flattered myself wasquite as grand an air as the chevalier's might have been. Hand on thehilt of my sword, hat doffed, with its plume sweeping the ground, Ibowed low.
"If mademoiselle has not forgotten an old acquaintance, will shepermit me respectfully to salute her?"
She had been seated on a low seat with the side of her face toward me,and may or may not have been aware of my approach. As I spoke, sherose quickly and turned toward me, the rich blood rushing over herface and neck for a minute, and receding and leaving her almost aswhite as when I had held her in my arms and she had thought thechevalier killed.
She did not speak, but she held out her hand, and I bowed low overit, and barely touched it with my lips. The young men (among whom wasof course Josef Papin) crowded around me with friendly greetings, andfor a few minutes we talked fast, they asking and I answering manyquestions about Daniel Boone and our adventures in the far West.
I did not look at mademoiselle as we talked, but--it is a way Ihave--I saw her all the time. I think it must be because I am so muchtaller than most people that I can see all that goes on around me (or,perhaps more truly, beneath me) without seeming to look. I sawmademoiselle regard me with a strange glance, as if she were lookingat some one she did not know, and was trying to explain him toherself. Then she sat down and quietly went on with her work, her headbent, and not looking at me again.
I talked on for a few minutes, and then turned to make my adieus tomademoiselle. She looked up at me with a friendly smile and I saw,what I had not noticed before, that she was paler and thinner thanwhen I had seen her last, and there was a look in her dark eyes as ofhidden trouble.
"Will you not stay and help us, monsieur?" she said in that voicewhich, from the first time I had heard it, had always seemed to me thesweetest in the world. Of course it set my silly pulses to beatingfaster, but I answered steadily and with an air of cold courtesy:
"I regret that I cannot accept mademoiselle's invitation; I havepromised my services elsewhere"; and with another low bow I turned onmy heel and, holding my head high, went back to weave garlands withMademoiselle Chouteau and Marguerite Papin.
And because I was so big and they were so petite, they delighted inordering me around (and I delighted in obeying), and they made memount to the highest beams to suspend garlands, and applauded me whenI arranged them to suit their fancy, and laughed at me or scolded mewhen I was awkward and stupid, until my back ached and my heart grewlight; for I forgot for a time that mademoiselle, for whom I hadrisked my life, had not even cared to give me a friendly welcome backto St. Louis.
The last garland was fastened in its place, the last stray bit ofevergreen and rubbish swept from the doors, the church garnished andbeautiful to behold. There was the noisy bustle of preparing fordeparture and the calling back and forth:
"Be sure you are at midnight mass, Gabriel."
"Au revoir at midnight mass, Pelagie."
"I will see you at midnight mass, monsieur."
And for me there was a moment of embarrassment. Was it my duty tooffer myself as escort to any of the maidens? For though the hour wasearly it was already dark. Or, since I was going direct tomademoiselle's house, would I be expected to accompany her? I glancedover to her corner; she had already left the church. I looked throughthe open doorway; she was walking down the Rue de l'Eglise with JosefPapin.
"Mademoiselle Chouteau," I said, "may I have the pleasure of walkinghome with you?"
But all the way up the Rue de l'Eglise and down the steep incline ofthe Rue Bonhomme, and up the Rue Royale to the great barred gate thatled into the stone-walled inclosure of Pierre Chouteau, whileMademoiselle Chouteau, with her nimble tongue, was flitting from onebit of village gossip to another, like a butterfly among the flowers,I was saying bitterly to myself:
"And she had even the discourtesy to walk away without waiting to seewhether the guest of her house was going home or not."
It was a long mile and a half from Pierre Chouteau's house to Dr.Saugrain's, and it was a frosty December evening. It was only fiveo'clock, but the stars were out, and through the leafless trees Icould see lights twinkling from the houses as I passed. Faster andfaster I walked, as my thoughts grew more and more bitter towardmademoiselle, and by the time I had reached the cheery living-room,with its blazing lightwood fire, I was in such a glow from exerciseand indignation as made the fire all unwelcome.
I had quite made up my mind, on my long walk, that mademoiselle shouldfind me as cool as herself; and through the evening meal I scarcelooked at her. But if I had fancied mademoiselle suffering from somesecret trouble, I changed my mind at supper. She sat between mycaptain and her guardian, and was in such merry mood that she had mycaptain alternately laughing uproariously at her wit, and making finespeeches about her beauty, in a fashion that quite amazed me, for Ihad ever considered him a sober-minded fellow, above all such lightways.
Nor did she refrain from a slight stab at me whenever it was possibleto get it in. I took no more notice of these than I could help, yet Ifelt my cheeks, already burning from my frosty walk, grow hotter andhotter, until the very tips of my ears were on fire; and I felt it theunkindest cut of all when she said, with her pretty accent and air ofpolite condescension to a very young boy:
"'Tis a long walk from Mademoiselle Chouteau's, monsieur, but it hasgiven you une grande couleur. What would not our St. Louis belles givefor such roses!"
I turned toward her just long enough to say gravely, "I thank you,mademoiselle," and then renewed at once my conversation with madame.But I could see from the tail of my eye that she had the grace toblush also, and to be ashamed of her petty persecutions, for she leftme to myself the remainder of the meal.
