A Little Girl in Old St. Louis

by Amanda M. Douglas

  CHAPTER XI

  WAS EVER WELCOME SWEETER

  It was, indeed, the lodges of the Peorias. The old chief, Neepawa, hadlong since given up rambling life, and with many of the elder peopleformed a settlement, where they had lived in peace with their whiteneighbors and seldom been molested by their red brethren. They were moreindustrious than many tribes. The main colony was about Ste. Genevieve,but these adored their old chief and his wife and enjoyed the smallercombination. They were kindly hearted and ready to hold out a helpinghand, and enjoyed their seclusion.

  Wawataysee had collapsed from fatigue and pure joy at the certainty thatthey would reach St. Louis once more. Of the next few incidents she keptonly the vague remembrance of a dream. She was taken into one of thelodges and water brought to her, and when the woman saw how utterlyexhausted she was, she bathed her face and combed her hair, then herpoor feet, and brought her a cup of warm spiced drink, put her in somefresh garments and left her to sleep. Some other motherly hands hadtaken Renee in charge, who chattered with all the Indian words she hadpicked up and entertained her hostess extremely.

  Meanwhile, Valbonais had related to the old chief his own mishaps, hismeeting with Wawataysee and Renee in their captivity, the terrible stormand the disaster to Black Feather and his followers that had led totheir opportunity of escape. Neepawa had heard of the attack on St.Louis, and the signal repulse the marauders had suffered. He admired thecourage of the captives and was glad they had found a haven. From herethey could easily be returned to St. Louis. But Valbonais also learnedthat they had narrowly missed an encounter with quite a large body ofSioux and Winnebagoes, who would no doubt have taken them prisonersagain if they had followed the river more directly. They had made quitea wide detour, it seemed, and to that they owed their safety.

  Renee seemed none the worse for her ducking and the fatigue when she hadbeen bathed, put in dry clothes and had a bountiful breakfast. TheIndian children and their plays interested her immensely. And there wasso much strange and new about the settlement and other things thatsuggested her first Indian friend, Mattawissa.

  Wawataysee slept until past noon, when she awoke refreshed, and at thefirst moment so surprised that she could not imagine where she was. Butthe familiar faces of Renee and Andre Valbonais quite restored her. Howwarmly sympathetic these children of nature were! Ah, what if they hadfallen into captivity again! and she shuddered.

  They talked of starting, but the old chief would not listen to such aplan.

  "You have had enough of travelling in the night," he said. "To-morrowsome of our young men will take you down. Until then be content."

  So they smoked the pipe of peace and amity, and talked of the mightychanges going on in the Continent, the new nation seeming a conglomerateof many peoples, sweeping everything before them with their resistlessenergy; of the towns springing up where different tribes had roamedabout and slaughtered each other. Almost eighty years ago Neepawa hadbeen born, when his race was ruler of nearly all the country.

  The travellers were really loaded with gifts the next morning. Two youngIndians were to row them down the river and return. With many thanksthey parted from their kind entertainers, with promises of gratefulremembrance.

  Renee could hardly contain herself. Anywhere else she must have dancedfor joy. Of course, there would be Uncle Gaspard. And she almostbelieved Mere Lunde must have found her way home, since they hadsucceeded under such difficulties.

  And now familiar sights met their eyes. Here was the Missouri Rivercoming to greet her mighty mother; Fort St. Charles with its hamlets,the bend in the river, the islands, the old town itself, the towers, thefort, the palisade rendered much stronger since the attack; the bluffwith its rocky ledge, and then the wharf.

  Business was over. There was not much doing at this season, and nearlyevery one had gone home. A few parties were out canoeing or rowing onthe river. The two Indians would return in spite of entreaties, and theybid their white guests good-by.

  Down along the levee the two girls, holding hands tightly, ran with alltheir speed. One hardly had a chance to see their faces. They turned upby the Government House, where a group of men sat smoking and enjoyingthe late afternoon coolness. Valbonais followed wonderingly. This wasSt. Louis! What had Indians or British hoped to gain by attacking sosmall a place, for he had thought of it as resembling Montreal orQuebec. Up the Rue de la Tour--there stood the shop door open----

  "Uncle Gaspard! Dear Uncle Gaspard! we have come back!" cried Renee,flying in.

  It was not Uncle Gaspard, but Francois Marchand, growing white to thevery lips at the apparition that met his gaze. Was it a dream? He hardlydared approach. The words died on his lips.

  Renee dropped the Indian girl's hand and rushed through the half-opendoorway. There was Mere Lunde in a chair outside, half hidden in thenest of vines, knitting leisurely. That for the moment did not surpriseRenee. She caught the elder woman's shoulder and almost shook her.

  "Where is my Uncle Gaspard? Tell me at once! Where is he? Where is he?"the child cried imperiously.

  Mere Lunde let her knitting fall and stared with wild eyes. "He!" sheexclaimed tremulously. "He! Have you not met him? He set out almost atonce for you. Oh, the good God and all the angels be praised! Now wewill be happy again. Oh, child, my heart has broken for you! How did youescape?"

  All the color left Renee's eager face. She stretched out her hands as ifto clasp something. The eyes seemed dulled by some far, desperate gaze.

  "Uncle Gaspard! Gone!" she faltered.

  "Oh, did you not meet him? Child, he would not rest until he had setout. Is it thy pretty prank, little one? Is he staying behind to tellsome one the story and then surprise us?"

  "He did not come!" she wailed, her heart throbbing with passionategrief. "We have not seen him. Oh, mere, mere, the cruel Indians havecaptured him! And I was so sure."

  She sank in a little heap at the woman's feet. After all the dangers andalternations of hope and fear, the fatigues, the last blow had been toomuch for her. Mere Lunde gathered the limp form in her arms, then laidher on the rustic settle, chafing the small hands and bathing the facewith a fragrant concoction of her French skill. She drew slow breathspresently, but did not open her eyes.

  Francois Marchand gazed on his wife, speechless with a curious doubt, asone in a dream. Then he came nearer. She was thinner, the rose bloom hadfaded from her cheeks and there were dark shadows about her eyes. Butoh, surely it was no ghost come to mock him!

  He took her in his arms, and if the shape had melted into vaguenothingness he would not have felt surprised. But it did not. It wassoft flesh. He rained kisses on brow and cheek and lips; her sigh was abreath of perfume. Was it moments or hours?

  "Thanks be to God and our good friend Gaspard!" he said presently. "Oh,my sweet blossom of northern wilds, my treasure, my queen, how I havefeared and wept for thee! What lonely days! What sleepless nights! And Ibound to the bed by wounds and fever and a broken limb, knowing thouwert in the hands of cruel enemies and I helpless to succor thee. Andthat brave soul came to thy rescue! How can we ever thank him enough?"

  She could not speak at first, only return kisses for kisses. He found aseat and drew her close in tender embrace; felt the throb of the heartagainst his, though the whole slim figure was full of languor.

  "And I was never certain if you were dead or alive. When they dragged mefrom you at the edge of the woods there was no motion to assure me. Allnight I dreamed of you, torn, perhaps, by some prowling beast, or lyingthere stark and stiff."

  "It was Gaspard who found me, who placed me in wise care and then setoff. Oh, let us go and thank him. Every moment's delay is ingratitude."

  "Is he not here?" She raised her head from his breast. "We have not seenhim. We owe our escape and guidance to another captive--a young fellowconsidered a slave. But--we have not seen M. Denys."

  "Heaven send him safely back to us, then! He is a brave, noble friend.He believed you might be taken up to the straits and the child would bewi
th you."

  She shuddered. She could not mar this happy moment by a relation of thedreadful fate which for a few days had hung over her and made her preferdeath. Ah, how much harder the resolve would have been had she known ofa certainty that her husband was living!

  "After much tedious journeying we reached the Peoria settlement, backfrom the Illinois River, where the old Chief Neepawa governs a remnantof his tribe. They were most kindly and gave us rest and food until wewere quite restored. Afterward they brought us home. Oh, my husband, mylord, my lover! To be with you once more is enough. I would havesuffered twice the hardships and dangers for such a blissful end!"

  He felt her frame tremble in his arms and pressed her closer in atransport of tenderness. Ah, the perfect content!

  Then she bethought herself.

  "The child," she said, awakening to the more generous flow of sympathythat love for the time had overwhelmed. "The poor little Renee! She haslooked forward every hour to meeting him again, and the disappointmentwill be bitter. It is more like a woman's love than a child's, thoughshe is innocent of the deeper strivings of maidenhood. Come, let us goto her."

  Mere Lunde had to give the young wife a warm welcome. The tears of joyfilled her faded eyes.

  Renee lay on the settle, sobbing. Wawataysee bent over and would havetaken her hand.

  "Go away! go away!" she cried imperiously. "I do not want you. You have_him_ to be glad with and I have no one, no one!"

  The pathos of the tone was heartrending.

  "Renee, my little dear, Francois is so glad."

  "Go away!" She turned her face to the wall and slapped impatiently withher hand. "I will not listen. The Indians have Uncle Gaspard, I know."

  Mere Lunde beckoned them. "She is very wilful at times, and now herheart is sore. But the good saints have led you both back. He has beennorth many a time and come home unharmed."

  "They will kill him this time!" the child almost shrieked. "There wasthat fierce Black Feather! Oh, he will never come back, never!"

  The old woman waved them to the doorway and they turned and passed out.All the garden was abloom and sweet with the fragrance of growing fruit,tangled vines and flowers. The pale heavens had lost the light of day,and the blue of the night was hidden by a soft gray vagueness. Birdswere singing good-night songs to each other and to sleepy nestlings.Marchand, with his arm around his wife, drew her into a secluded spot.

  "Black Feather was a Huron," he said, "mean, tricky, avaricious. Surelyyou were not in his hands?" and his grasp tightened.

  "Only a little while. Oh, I would never have been taken alive to thestraits! And this young Valbonais was their captive. Oh, where has hedisappeared to? He had an uncle in St. Louis, whither he was coming whenthey captured him."

  "Tell me the story. I have had hundreds of fears for you, my darling,yet I kept trusting the All Father."

  "Oh, not to-night!" she pleaded. "Is it not enough that I am restored,and that no evil has happened to me? Let us not mar the joy of thismeeting."

  So they sat until the white veil in the sky cleared away and all was aheavenly blue, with stars shining so bright they took on beautiful tintsand twinkled as in a fairy dance. To the reunited hearts there had neverbeen such a night of joy and splendor.

  Renee sobbed herself to sleep, worn out with the pangs ofdisappointment. Mere Lunde would not disturb her. She set out a littlesupper for the other two, and they talked in low tones. Mere Lunde toldof her wanderings, and that she had almost died of hunger and thirst.

  "We who were so sadly bereft resolved to join forces," explainedMarchand. "Gaspard Denys ought not lose everything by his generosity. SoI have watched the trade and tried to fill his place as best I could,and Mere Lunde has kept the house, both praying and hoping. Severalprisoners have escaped or been left by the Indians, who really did notwant them and were afraid to practise the cruelties of other days lest asevere punishment might overtake them."

  Renee was still dejected and inconsolable the next morning, and wouldreceive no overtures from Wawataysee. The young wife understood. Notthat Renee would have wished her any ill, but with the unreason offeminine things she could not endure the sight of their happy faces, thesound of the tender words they exchanged. She went out in the corner ofthe garden and made her moan, and would not be seen of the friends thatcame to congratulate the returned captives.

  Nearly noon a young man paused at the gate, looking a little uncertain.

  "It is Andre Valbonais!" cried Wawataysee, with delight. "I will bringhim in and you must thank him with your full heart."

  Valbonais was bright and smiling, his ragged clothes, that scarcely heldtogether, replaced by a comfortable suit, if not new; his hair trimmedand in good order--a very attractive young fellow now, certainly.

  "We were going to set out on a search for you," Wawataysee began. "Insome unexpected manner we lost sight of you last night. How did youfare?"

  "Oh, not badly," with a cheerful smile. "I knew you would go to friendswho would be overjoyed to see you, and I wandered down a street, tryingto find an inn, for I was not sure I would be allowed to stop in thestreet all night. So in my inquiry I met some one who knew my uncle,Pierre Valbonais, who, it seems, is at work in your great mill, and wholives beyond the court-house, in the Rue des Grainges. My faith, but youare a very hospitable folk," and his eyes shone with a joyous light."This M. Pion would give me some supper and a bed, and we talked over myadventures smoking our pipes."

  "I am glad you found a friend. It was our desire to take you in. Andyour relative?" with a slight hesitation.

  "I found my way to the mill, and the uncle greeted me cordially. Thereis an aunt and some cousins, it seems, and I am to make my home withthem for the present. Moreover, I find there is plenty of work to do andI shall be happy. Where is the little maid?"

  Wawataysee explained Renee's grief at finding her uncle had not returnedfrom his search. Then M. Marchand took him through to the shop, and wasso earnest in his gratitude that it touched Valbonais deeply.

  Renee came out of her garden corner as he was going away. Her prettyeyes were swollen with weeping.

  "Oh, little one, you were so brave on the journey, amid all thehardships, that you must not lose heart now! And I hear your uncle hasmade many trips with the traders, so he knows about the Indians and isnot likely to let them take him unawares. He will return, surely."

  She cast her eyes down and made no reply. She would not be comfortedeven by him.

  The Renauds came over in the afternoon, and though the girls followedher to the garden, she would not be amused with their chatter. What didshe care about a new frock or a tea-drinking on the green by the fort,or games and plays?

  "She is very disagreeable and cold," said Elise to Sophie as they werewalking home. "I suppose because she has a 'de' before her name shethinks she can put on any airs. But I am older and shall have a loverfirst. Of course, M. Denys will return. He always has before."

  So everybody thought. And a child cannot be unhappy forever when everyone joins to dispel her sorrow. She thawed out very slowly. Andre hardlyknew what to make of her, she was so grave and indifferent.

  He had found employment in the mill and felt quite elated. MadameValbonais liked him very much. There was one son a trapper, though hedid not take very long journeys. Then there were two bright girls whowere not averse to having such an attractive cousin.

  Through them he came to know the Renauds, and Barbe he thought extremelywinsome. Before a fortnight had passed he was in the merrymakings anddances, and having a most enjoyable time. It did not trouble him nowthat he had been in more than one peril of his life.

  The lieutenant-governor who had proved himself so unworthy was recalled.M. Cruzat was fortifying the town more securely than it had ever been,but for some time any body of Indians going back and forth roused afeeling of distrust and fear. Pleasure parties were careful not to trustthemselves too far away.

  Mere Lunde begged Wawataysee to remain with them, as M. Marchand wastaking c
harge of the business. When Mattawissa came in with her prettywork and various articles, many of which went down to New Orleans, sheand the young wife made very good friends.

  "She will take every one away from me," thought the child with aswelling heart, and she grew more reserved. Even Mere Lunde had to yieldto the sweetness of Wawataysee. Sometimes she sang really beautifulIndian songs and described vividly the dances and entertainments, thoughthere were many in which only old women were allowed.

  July began to ripen fruits and fill the farmers with joy at the prospectof abundant crops. But Renee counted the weeks sadly. She was growingpale and thinner, and roamed about like an unquiet ghost. She would notplay with the children, but rambled desolately by herself andoccasionally stole down to the end of the stockade and ventured out tosee her grandfather. He seemed nearly always at home now, sittingoutside his neglected-looking cabin smoking his pipe and patching hisclothes or making moccasins, on which he put stout soles of skin. Hewould nod and occasionally push a stool to her, which was the round of alog, and motion her to be seated.

  One day he said sharply: "Has anything been heard of Gaspard Denys? Sometraders have come in."

  She knew that. They had been at the shop.

  "They have not seen him," she admitted sorrowfully.

  "There would be news if he had been killed."

  "Oh! oh!" A sharp pang went to the child's heart. To have another puther dread into words was like confirming it.

  "That might be," said the old man. "The pitcher may go to the springwithout spout or handle, but it gets an unlucky knock at the last."

  She was silent.

  "He made me give you to him. He bound me with signing a paper. Then ifyou are his, what he has comes naturally to you. There is the house andthe garden. And the shop, with all its stores. Gaspard Denys has astrong box. There may be gold and silver in it. It belongs to you."

  Renee stared at him. His skin was browner than ever, and his facewrinkled in every direction. His hair was unkempt, his eyes were sosquinted up that they looked like two sparks merely.

  "Oh," she cried, "what should I want with it all, and no Uncle Gaspard?"

  "It will be a good dot. It will make you a good marriage when the timecomes. And they must not get it away from you."

  "They? Who?" in surprise.

  "That man and his half-Indian wife. Ah, I have seen people before, menwho can plan adroitly. And I tell you now he shall not have it. When thetime comes I shall turn him out neck and heels, and we will see! I shallnot have you cheated out of your rights, Renee de Longueville."

  "I don't understand. If it is M. Marchand you mean----" and she eyed theold man resolutely.

  "Who asked him to come in there? Gaspard Denys locked up his place, andhe and that old woman opened it. They had no right, I say."

  He struck the flat stone beside him with his fist, but it did not seemto hurt that member.

  "It was Mere Lunde's home. And she looks for him every day. Oh, if wordcame that he was dead we should both die of grief!"

  Her lip quivered, her eyes filled with tears.

  "Bah! No one dies of grief. And I will keep you out of that man'sclutches. I am your grandfather and I have some rights."

  Renee shuddered at the fierce old man. She had used to feel afraid ofhim, but it seemed of late that she did not fear anything, the darknessof the night nor the thunder storms, when it appeared as if the townwould be hurled into the river. What if he should really claim her,if--if--Oh, she would a hundred times rather stay with M. Marchand, evenif he was kissing and caressing Wawataysee half the time.

  "I must go," she said, rising. She had been trying to esteem him alittle now that she was so lonely, but all the endeavor was like waterspilled on the ground, and he had broken the bowl.

  "You will come again. No one shall cheat you out of your rights,"nodding vigorously.

  She turned away. First she thought she would walk along the river. Itcrept lazily to-day, yellow in the yellow sunshine. But when she reachedthe Rue Royale she turned into that. She did not care to pass theRenauds'--why was it that she could not love any one any more? that herheart seemed like lead in her bosom? So she went up to the Rue del'Eglise straight on to the little church. She had not been Saturdayafternoons of late. She knew the catechism and the prayers, and thechildren's drawl seemed to spoil it for her. Sometimes people prayed forthings and they came. Well, she was praying all the time for UncleGaspard's return. Maybe it ought to be asked for in the church. Shecrept in softly.

  The little old place was very, very plain. Even the altar and the highaltar had but few decorations at this time. There was a candle burningand it shed a pale glow. There was a basin of holy water, and shereverently made the sign of the cross with it. Then she knelt down onthe floor and clasped her small hands.

  "O holy God," she prayed, "O Christ, son of the holy God, listen to mysorrow, I beseech thee. Send back Uncle Gaspard, for my life is solonely without him. Keep him safe from all danger."

  It seemed so different to pray here. She would come every day now. Thiswas God's house.

  It was strange and she did not understand it a bit, but her heart feltlighter. The old garden was gay with bloom. Chatte came to meet her,arched his back and waved his tail like a flag, looking at her out ofgreen, translucent eyes with a black bar straight up and down. Shestooped and patted him and he began to purr with delight. He was as fondas she of sitting in Uncle Gaspard's lap.

  Mere Lunde was pounding green grapes, great, luscious wild grapes, intoa mash. Then she would strain out the seeds and make a most deliciousjam with maple sugar. How fragrant the room was with the spicy scent!She went up and kissed her tenderly, and tears came to the woman's eyesat the unexpected caress.

  Wawataysee sat by the open window doing some beautiful beadwork. M.Marchand was busy sorting goods and piling them up on the shelves, andwhistling soft and low like the wood thrush. Well, why should he not behappy, now that he had Wawataysee back? And she had been almost angryabout it--no, not angry, but hurt, and--perhaps she was selfish. Ah, thinkof her grandfather being here and turning things about, making it dismaland wretched! No, he should not order the place and turn out these twowho had been so kind. Perhaps the Governor would know what was right.She would pray it might never happen. That would be another petition.And without understanding how religion comforted, she was happier.