CHAPTER XII
HER ANSWER
It was strange how petitions grew. Renee used to walk gravely up to theold church--the door was never fastened--and slip in and say her prayer.Once a woman came who had lost her little baby.
"Oh," she said, when they had exchanged sorrows, "I think thou wilt becomforted. Gaspard Denys has come back times before. Many of ourhusbands and brothers have returned. But my little baby cannot return. Imay live many, many years and grow old, and in all that time I shallnever see him!"
Yes, that was a great sorrow, and a long waiting.
August came in. Pears and plums were ripening, and various articles werebeing put by for winter use. Sometimes the season was long and cold, andit was well to be prepared. Men worked in the fields to gather the earlycrops, and the young people had merry dances at night. The days began togrow a little shorter already.
Some one said as she stepped out of church one afternoon: "There is asmall fleet coming down the river. Pierre Chouteau expects one of his innext week, but that will have a dozen or more."
"That is only Latour's. He has been up to St. Charles," was the answer."They have a great abundance of corn this season."
Next week! Renee's little heart beat with a great bound of joy. Andafter that boats would be coming in weekly, Indians with canoes full offurs, dried venison and fish from the lakes. If one of them broughtUncle Gaspard!
She went down to the rise of ground, almost like an embankment, longsince worn away. She could see over the small throng. The first boat wasmoored; it had bales of something. The second had some passengers, womenamong them. A man was standing up, and suddenly he waved his hand. Whowas it? It was waved again.
"Oh! oh!" She dropped down. All the air was full of sparks, and theriver seemed turning round and getting mingled with the sky. When themist cleared away she saw a confused throng of people, some leapingashore, and a hurly-burly of voices. Had that brief vision been a dream?She felt strangely weak, then she laughed without knowing why and hereyes overflowed with tears.
A tall form came climbing up the hill with long strides, and then shewas clasped in strong arms, she felt kisses on her forehead, she waslifted off her feet.
"Little one!" the voice said; and only one thing in her after lifesounded as sweet. "Little one, oh, thank heaven you were saved!"
Then they sat down on the grass the sun had scorched into a dried mat.
"Did you come thinking to meet me?"
"I meant to come every time after this to meet the boats. Oh, you arealive! The fierce Indians have not killed you."
How her voice trembled with emotion, and her hands were clasped tightabout his arm!
"They have not had much chance." How good it was to hear the oldcheerful laugh. "And Wawataysee is safe, as well? Did Marchand recover?I have heard no news of the dear old town, but of you I heard long ago,and it made my heart as light as a bird mounting up to the sky. Perhapsit will please even your gentle heart to know that Black Feather, thetreacherous Indian chief, is dead. You see, I hardly knew whichdirection to take and went wrong several times. Then I heard Elk Hornhad sold some female captives to Black Feather, who had taken them upthe Illinois River. When I reached an encampment where there had been aterrific storm I heard Black Feather had been seriously injured and hadfinally been moved to an interior encampment, where there was a medicineman. So, after a search, I found them. In spite of the medicine man thechief had died, and they had given him a grand funeral. His followershad dispersed. But I was told that, after the storm, some captives hadescaped and he had been so angry he had two Indians put to death. Sothen I retraced my steps. Many a time I wondered if I should find you inthe forests, dead from hunger and fatigue. Whether you had gone down theriver--but you could not do that, unless some friendly boat had offered.I passed some lodges where they had not known of any wanderers, and atlast met two Peoria Indians, who said the three escaped captives hadreached them and been taken to St. Louis."
He pressed the child closer, looked down in the fond, eager eyes thatwere shaded in a mist of emotion, and felt the eager grasp of the smallhand. How much she cared, this motherless and well-nigh fatherless girl.
"It was Wawataysee they wanted, but your fate might have been as bad.They might have left you somewhere to starve--" Yet did not the prettychild's face give evidence of coming beauty? only to an Indian this wasnot the rich, appealing beauty of his own tribes. And the present was somuch to the red man, the triumphs, satisfactions, joys and revenges ofto-day.
"Oh," she said, with a long, quivering breath, "I am so glad! so glad!It runs all over me," and she laughed softly. "And you will never goaway again? They are building the wall all around the town and puttingsharp-pointed sticks through the top. The children do not go out on theprairies any more; they are afraid."
"I do not think we are in much danger. Farther to the east the Indiansare joining tribes, stirred up by the English fighting the colonists.But we have nothing to do with their quarrels. And this attack was amortification to them. Few, if any, of our friendly Indians wereconcerned in it. Oh, little one, thank God that you and Wawataysee aresafe."
"But M. Marchand thanks God for Wawataysee!" she said, with a touch ofresentment.
He smiled at that. When she was older she would demand every thought ofone's heart.
"Shall we go down now?"
"Mere Lunde will be so glad." She arose and hopped gleefully on onefoot, holding his hand as she went part of the way around him. The lastrays of golden light in the sky made bewildering shadows and gleamsabout her and she looked like a fairy sprite.
The town was already lapsing into quiet. No one had need to grumble atthe length of working days in this pastoral town and time. Others hadcome in from journeys, and in more than one home feasting had begun. Theboats had been fastened securely, the river was growing dark withshadows, and purple and gold clouds were drifting across the heavens.
"Let us go this way," Renee said.
This way was up to the Rue de l'Eglise, and she turned into that. Hereand there a friend caught his hand and he had to pause for a few wordsof cordial welcome.
"What now, little one?" as she drew him aside.
She looked up with a sweetly serious expression, though a flush ofhalf-embarrassment wavered over the small face.
"I went to church every afternoon to say a prayer for you that you mightcome home. I thought the good God would rather hear it in His ownhouse--"
"Did you, my little darling?" he exclaimed, deeply touched.
"And now"--she hesitated--"I think I ought to go and thank Him. Men dothat when the Governor grants their wishes."
"Yes, yes! And I will go, too."
Ah! there was much to be thankful for, and he felt a littleconscience-smitten that he had not made more of a point of it.
The church was quite dark, with a candle burning on each side of thehigh altar. She led him clear up to the chancel steps, and there theyknelt together. The little girl might not have understood all the finepoints of belief that the world had fought over since Christ had diedfor all, and was still warring about, but her gratitude was sincere andearnest if not spiritual, at least in a devout spirit.
Gaspard Denys was moved by something he had never experienced before,and touched by the child's tender, fervent faith.
Coming out, they met old Pere Rierceraux, leaning on his cane. He hadbeen godfather to little Mary Pion, the first child baptised by FatherMeurin when there had been no church at all and only a tent in thewoods. The rude little building was a temple to him, and thither he cameevery night to see that no harm was likely to befall it, and commend itto the watchful care of God.
"It is Gaspard Denys!" he said in a voice a little broken by the weightof years. "So thou hast come home from perils and hast devotion enoughto thank God and the saints for it. There will be merry hearts to-night,quite unmindful of this. Ma'm'selle, I have noted thy devoutness also.The Holy Mother have thee in her keeping."
It was quite dusk now a
nd the houses were lighted up. At the Pichous'they were playing already on the fiddles. Then there was this turn.
The good news had preceded Denys. The household had come out to meet himand there was great joy. Mere Lunde had already set a little feast, andthey wondered at the loitering.
There had never been any welcome like this in his life before, no one tobe greatly glad when he came or sorrowful when he went. It was like anew life, and his heart expanded, his pulses thrilled with a ferventjoy. The beautiful Indian wife who smiled at him and then turned hereyes to her husband with an exquisite tenderness; the little girl whosegladness was so true and deep that her eyes had the soft lustre of tearsnow and then, and smiles that went to his heart; Mere Lunde's happy,wrinkled old face, in her best coif and kerchief; and presently,neighbors coming in with joyous greetings. For in those days they sharedeach other's joys and sorrows.
The remembrance of the cruel May day vanished. Flowers were growing overthe graves of the dead in the little churchyard. Many of the captiveshad found their way back; some, indeed, lay in silent places far fromkindred. They did not forget, but they were a light-hearted people, andtheir religion was not of the morbid, disquieting kind. Conscience withthem had a few salient points of right and wrong, the rest did not touchtheir simple lives.
There was a gay autumn, with wine-making and brewing of spiced or plainbeer, of meat and fish salted and dried, of corn gathered and wheatground and the thrifty preparations for winter. All the meadow landswere abloom with autumnal flowers, the trees were gorgeous in all thecoloring sun and winds and dew could devise, and the haze of theresplendent Indian summer hung over it all. There were nutting partiesto the woods, but they were cautious and went well protected.
Trappers and traders came in, and the talk was of wilderness trails andIndian villages friendly and unfriendly, of deer and mink and otter andbeaver, sable, marten and beautiful fox and wolfskins from the farnorth. Many of the fleets went straight down the river to New Orleans,others came up from there with beads and gewgaws and spun silk andthreads of various colors, calicoes and blankets and coarse thick stuffsfor tents. There was much dickering, great supplies of arms andammunitions, and then the crowd melted away and only familiar faces wereseen again. The country round about put on its white coverlet of snow tokeep warm the little earth children, streams and ponds were frozen overand all was merriment again.
Francois Marchand and his pretty wife set up a home of their own only ashort distance away, but business had increased so much that it neededthe attention of both. Next year they would buy some boats or have thembuilt, and do some trading up and down the river.
Andre Valbonais was much pleased with his new home and the cordiality ofhis relatives. He soon attracted the attention of Colonel Chouteau, forhe had considerable education, and was put in a clerkship, whichgratified him extremely. But he often ran up to the Rue de Rive to chatwith Denys and Marchand over their adventures, and to watch the pretty,dark-eyed girl who always sat so close to her uncle and held his hand.
And then came the winter gayeties. Throngs of children went out on thegreat mound when the snow had a crust on it, and the girls, gathering uptheir skirts, squatted down and were given a little push, and away theywent, swift as an arrow. One would tumble over and roll down to thebottom, throwing about numerous little fleets, but they were so wellwrapped in furs no one was ever hurt. The great achievement was to spinthe whole length without a break.
It was merry again at Christmastide, and Renee enjoyed it much more thanlast year; but there was a tender devoutness in her worship. Then thegreat Feast of Lights, Epiphany and all the fun and frolic. Andre waschosen a king by one of the pretty girls. He was a fine dancer and avery good-looking young fellow.
Perhaps it made Renee more light-hearted to know that Barbe had a reallover, and that he hardly allowed her to smile at any one else. She wasnot quite betrothed as yet, but there could be no objections. Hebelonged to a good New Orleans family, and was in a trading house secondonly to the Chouteaus'. All the Guions said it would be an excellentmatch, and Barbe was plenty old enough to marry. Bachelor girls had notcome in fashion, and when one had passed twenty the younger girls reallyflouted her and thought she ought to step in the background.
She danced once with Gaspard Denys. No, he had never been a real lover.But if he had not gone to Quebec after this little girl--well, all thingsmight have been different. And as well Jean Gardepier as any one. Shewould go to New Orleans with him when he went down on tradingexpeditions, and the gayety would delight her. She would have some fineclothes and jewels, still she sighed a little when Denys took her backto her sister.
"And here is Elise the second," said Madame Renaud gayly. "See what atall girl she has grown. You must dance once with her. Oh, how soon theyare women, and then it is lovers and husbands. Gaspard, are you going tostay single forever?" and Madame laughed softly.
"I'm such an old fellow now! I feel like a grandfather to these younggirls," he returned jocosely.
But Elise thought him charming, and in her turn almost envied Renee.
Years unmarked by any special events pass on almost unheeded. Trade cameand went. A few new houses were built. Young people were married, newchildren were born. Families came from across the river, not likingtheir English neighbors over well. Occasionally there was an Indianalarm, but St. Louis had the good fortune to live mostly at peace withher red neighbors, while many of the Illinois towns suffered severely.
One of the events of the summer that delighted Renee was the birth ofWawataysee's baby. It was a great marvel to her, though there wereplenty of babies about. It was more French than Indian. It had beautifullarge dark eyes and was a very fine specimen of babyhood. It was namedfor Uncle Gaspard, who was its godfather, and Wawataysee pleaded thatRenee should be godmother.
"For you are the two people I love best after my husband," said theIndian woman proudly. "You are like a little sister."
Renee was very glad to be that now. She was learning to rejoice in thehappiness of others.
Then Barbe Guion had a very pretty wedding, and the boat in which shewas going to New Orleans was trimmed with flags. It was a long journeythen, sometimes a dangerous one; less so at this season. And Barbe mightbe gone a whole year. There was a great turnout to wish her godspeed.She looked very bright and happy in her wedding gear.
Renee took Uncle Gaspard's hand and glanced up in his face, which wasrather grave.
"Are you sorry?" she asked.
"Sorry? What a question, child! Why should I be sorry?"
"She loved you very much," was the answer, in a low tone.
"Nonsense! I am old enough to be her father. And Barbe married of herown free will."
"I wish you had been my true father," Renee subjoined gravely. Andstrange to say, she pitied Barbe in her secret heart, yet she was gladshe had gone so far away.
Renee went now and then to see her grandfather. It seemed as if he grewolder and thinner and more morose, yet her sympathy went out to himcuriously. She had heard the talk that he was suspected of being inleague with the river pirates and supplying the Indians with rum, whichwas against the laws. One ship had been caught, the piratesovermastered, four of them sent to New Orleans in irons, and two hadbeen wounded and drowned in an attempt to swim away. She felt a gooddeal troubled. He would not talk of the affair when she mentioned it.
"But you are so lonely here outside the palisade. Why do you not comein?" she inquired.
"It suits me well enough," he answered roughly. "I did not ask you tostay here. And you need not come for my pleasure."
"But if the Indians should attack you some time?"
"Bah! The Indians know me better," with a scowl of disdain.
"Is Antoine Freneau my grandfather really?" she asked that evening asshe sat in the moonlight with Denys.
"Why, yes," in amaze at her question.
"Then it would be wicked not to--to have some regard for him," sheremarked unwillingly.
Gaspard did not answ
er at once. Antoine had dropped down year by year.He had not always been so churlish, though his discourteous, hermit-likeways were of long standing. He had never doubted but that he had beenthe father of the girl he loved, yet she had come up as a lily out of aquagmire. But how could Renee respect or regard him? And how little hecared for her!
"That's a difficult question. We shall have to ask the good pere someday. He understands these matters."
"But--I belong to you, surely?"
"You belong to me!" He clasped her hand fervently.
"And I shall always stay here?"
"Always, until some young lover comes;" but he drew her closer, as if hedisputed her being taken away.
"You shall be my lover," with a gay laugh. "If ever I draw a bean at theking's ball you shall be my king."
A Little Girl in Old St. Louis Page 12
