Pétant sighed and dropped his head in his hands. “I thought it merely a girl’s crush. She is so young.”
“Katari said that she is quite insistent about being woman grown, and free to make her own decisions. And Opichi wants you, Pétant.”
“The old bear and the little robin?” Pétant muttered. “What would she want in a rough and grizzled beast like me?”
His friend did make a frighteningly gruff picture to those who did not know him. When Nick was but twelve, one dour look from the older man could make him all but piss his britches. But Pétant’s massive heart was truly golden.
“Katari anticipated this question of yours,” Nicholas returned. “She said that Native women look with their hearts and not with their eyes.”
For a moment, he thought he spied a tear glimmer in the giant’s blue eyes. “Opichi is lovely, I admit. She rants more than a woman should, but it is how she was raised and the circumstance she has borne. I admire her strength.”
“But do you want her?” Nick prodded.
Pétant hung his head as if in shame. “It’s not right.”
“In the name of God, by whose judgment?” Nick burst out. “Although you have cared for her welfare, she is not a child. She is fully a woman now. And, though you may sometimes feel it is so, you are not an old man by any stretch of the imagination. You are only ten years older than I am.”
Pétant heaved a sigh. “Yes,” he admitted finally.
“Yes what?”
“I want her too. For good. I am ready for a woman in my heart.”
Nick smiled, and he too felt the welling up of nature’s enthusiasm at the thought of his friend’s burgeoning happiness. “Well, let’s go win ourselves a contest so that you can wed your new bride properly.”
~~~~~
Katari and Opichi slipped through the balmy night on quiet, moccasined feet. They wore beaded skirts and tunics of doeskin, and had wrapped their shoulders with blankets. There were not many townsfolk in the streets, and she worried they might have already missed the festivities.
Hearing several hoots of laughter from somewhere in the distance, Katari turned in that direction, once again hopeful. She pulled gently on Opichi’s slender arm to guide her.
They soon approached the waterfront, which was lit as bright as the day by dozens of leaping torches that had been pounded into the ground. A long, grassed chute was created by ropes and stakes. At one end, many men gathered, some in uniform. At the other end a wide, plank tower was placed to serve as a backdrop.
A wooden, multicolored bird dangled from a rope attached to one long pole extending from the tower. From its mangled condition, it had obviously been through several contests before. Although it was surely once as bright as Nicholas had described to her, it was now bedraggled and brownish. She snickered lightly.
Onlookers gathered everywhere, save for the tower end into which the shots would be fired. Most were men, but Katari could discern some women in the mix as well. She sniffed, thinking of Nicholas’s decree that they remain behind. They had a right to be here. There were vendors about, and food and drink flowed among the milling crowd.
Katari secretly wished that she possessed the coinage with which to purchase a spirit-drink, as well as some more of those deliciously roasted meats. She had never before tasted anything quite like them.
Opichi pointed. Pétant ‘s reddish head was visible above the crowd in the distance. She recognized Nicholas’s tousled dark hair next to his, as both men worked with their flintlocks. The pair stood several inches over most of the group present, exuding brawny, male strength without effort. Katari chewed her lip, hoping that their accuracy matched their formidable size.
Nicholas laughed heartily as Pétant leaned in and muttered something in his ear, and Katari felt that familiar little twist in her belly when she looked at him, like a tickling flutter. She wanted to get closer to them, but the mass of bodies was becoming thicker, and, therefore, much harder to cut through. She held onto Opichi tightly, afraid to let her go for even a moment.
Loud male voices announced her that the contest was beginning. It was very hard for Katari to digest the jumble of different languages that assailed her. It appeared that there were two opposing groups facing off – the military guard and a small group of local trappers. She tried to explain what was happening to Opichi, but failed abysmally to find the appropriate Ojibwe words.
The first gunshot made them jump in unison. Blue-grey smoke began to filter through the air as, one-by-one, the participants took their aim and fired in the first round. Whoever successfully hit the wooden target hanging from its pole moved onto the next round, backing up five paces to increase the level of difficulty. When Katari finally wormed her way into the front line of onlookers, Pétant, Nicholas, and two of the uniformed men were the only contestants remaining.
The crowd was becoming more boisterous as the game progressed. Betting continued among some inebriated men who argued incessantly to her left over the practiced aim of the militiamen versus the steadiness produced by the muscled forearms of the seasoned adventurers. Eventually, Pétant and one soldier stepped away from the field, having missed the target. The final round between Nicholas and the remaining guardsman commenced quickly.
An older man with a graying beard, laden with the scent of spirit-drink, tugged firmly on one of her braids. “Little women,” he gurgled at them. “Who would you rather have at your side should you face down a bear in the forest? The guardsman or the trapper? Who? Tell me now.”
“Why, the trapper, of course,” she replied smoothly in Dutch.
“Twenty more guilders on the trapper!” he yelled, and the crowd swelled anew with excitement. Another voice floated up. “Fifteen on the trapper! Right here!”
Katari bit her cheek nervously as the remaining guardsman moved back five paces, yet again. His face was determined and cold. He loaded, aimed, and shot his firearm, but the wooden parrot dangling from the pole did not move at all.
The crowd hushed as Nicholas stepped up to the mark. He raised his weapon and eyed the target, taking his time. The crowd roared louder, but it did not seem to cause him any nervousness. When the gun discharged, Katari’s heart soared to see the wooden figure wildly spin on the pole.
The cheering of the townsmen next to Katari was the loudest she had ever heard. “You little women just won us a pile of guilders!” one of them crowed. In seconds, she and Opichi were encircled and lifted upwards by strong arms, and perched high like birds on a limb.
Katari could not help but giggle when her head popped up above the tumult, and she could see clearly again. Her eyes met Opichi’s, who was lifted up too, and they laughed together, grasping hands. She turned her head, trying to locate Nicholas.
She did not need to search long or hard. He was right below her, glaring up quite furiously.
~~~~~
Nicholas was astonished to see the animated face of Katari, and then Opichi pop up above the throng of watchers-on. His surprise quickly turned into a slow, hot simmer when he realized that they were balanced upon the shoulders of drunken men, skirts hitched half-way up, laughing away like they had no care in the world.
“Pour l'amour de Dieu,” he muttered. For the love of God. He strode determinedly away from the shouts of congratulations and towards the women. He heard a muffled curse and the heavy tread of Pétant behind him. His friend must have seen them as well.
Katari’s giggling smile faded quickly away when she read his heated gaze. Nicholas snaked his arm up, and his hand encircled her ankle. Her skin was smooth and warm, and the contact instantly made him recall the feel of her body under the bedroll. He gripped her tighter against the intrusive thrust of the image in his mind.
“Oww,” she complained.
“I am going to pull you down, and spank your bottom very hard,” he growled up at her.
The uncharacteristic threat caused shock to register in her gold-flecked eyes. “You wouldn’t,” Katari gasped.
Before he could make good on his promise and yank her down, the crowd swelled behind him, lifting him up into the air as well.
“King of the Marksmen!” someone yelled. “To the Brouwer Inn!”
They were borne away down the streets on a tide of bodies. Pétant was simply surrounded and led like a beast of burden, due to the sheer mass of him.
~~~~~
The Brouwer Inn was now sultry with the sweat of many excited and milling human bodies. Nicholas felt a bead of it break out on his brow. His unruly hair was curling damply around his temples, and his beard itched. It felt like mid-summer although it was only late in May.
At present, the mood in the room was jubilant. He had been promptly paid his winnings – 105 guilders – or the value of fifteen full beaver pelts. His prize also included several rounds of drinks and food, and their group was partaking happily of the bounty.
Opichi was uncharacteristically quiet, but smiled up at them often, as she nibbled at her braised and buttered quail. Pétant had quickly found a seat next to her. For once, the red-headed giant seemed to be rendered dumbstruck. Their mutually mooning glances were humorous to watch, but Nicholas found it more important to keep a close eye on Katari.
Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining vividly in the flickering, lantern-lit interior of the Inn. There were many male eyes upon her person, and, unfortunately, Nicholas was not positioned immediately next to her. His protective instincts were fully engaged, and he gritted his teeth against them, feeling as if he had a hard stake up his back. When any man spoke to her, the back of his neck tingled from the influence of a thousand tiny hairs rising. It was not a feeling he enjoyed at all.
Katari appeared to be quite a delight to the townsmen – and even some townswomen – due to the fact that she was a picture quite out of the ordinary. A comely Native woman, who spoke near to fluent in their own Dutch tongue, was both unusual and engaging to those of this settlement. Her natural talent for finding and catching the avid interest of others was apparently a force to be reckoned with.
Everyone asked her questions, chattering at her like a flock of sparrows. They hung upon her softly phrased and witty answers. Nicholas found it intriguing that the lilt and purr of her voice could cause him to be both extremely vexed and greatly captivated in the very same instant.
To her initial delight, Katari held her prized cup of ale in a wooden tankard before her. She had sipped at it curiously many times, but Nicholas could detect a slight wrinkle to her delicate, little nose when she swallowed the hearty brew. Though it was sweetened well with honey, it appeared to him that Katari was not well pleased with her’ spirit-drink.’ He smirked a little at the knowledge, and wondered just how she would handle a strong pull of jack-whiskey in her cup. Likely not very well.
An influx of dour-looking guardsman at the doors of the Inn gave him a moment’s pause. It appeared to Nicholas that they were certainly not the best of sports about a French trapper whipping their Dutch culs.
He glared pointedly at a tipsy man standing much too close to Katari. He was soon bending over her and quite obviously inhaling her female scent. The dolt was ogling her bare calves as well as Katari talked away, oblivious to his lecherous intent. Nick gritted his teeth in annoyance. He’d surely had enough for one night. He could feel the dark side of him rising.
“Pétant,” he said, as he pushed his chair back and stood. “We should get our wives home, no? It’s late, and I’ve got a mind to sleep after all this food and drink.”
“Wives?” Katari echoed softly, managing to look confused enough to warrant more unneeded attention.
Nick stilled her startled look with a firm stare, and casually flicked away the man’s hand that had now come to rest possessively on the curve of Katari’s shoulder. When the man growled in his direction, Nick shoved him back roughly, a suitable enough warning without bringing the guards forward. The man was smart enough to take it, and stumbled off, suitably cowed by the trapper’s brute strength and show of arrogance.
“Yes. My country wife,” he replied. Nick willed himself to relax for a single heartbeat, and then lowered his mouth to Katari’s lips to show his possession to the others who still watched.
What he didn’t expect was the way that she kissed him back.
Chapter 9
With the firm, warm press of Nicholas’s lips against her own, Katari actually trembled. The silly response shamed her, for everyone was watching them closely. Was she a child? A simpering, little girl? Only moments ago, she ate and drank among these people, and they hung on her every word.
Her anger didn’t last, but it did give her determination. Katari wrapped her arms around Nicholas’s neck, and let the man kiss her as if she had readily expected, and wanted, his full male attention.
She felt his initial surprise through a telltale moment of hesitation. But it only lasted a second. Then she was swiftly pulled against his long, hard body with a grip of an eagle. When she felt his tongue flick lightly against her own, her resolve crumbled, and she trembled like a fawn anew. The crowd behind them hooted.
“You’re right, Nick, let us get them home. I am as ready as you are,” called Pétant loudly. “It will be the morrow soon.”
The big man clapped Nicholas on the back with a little extra force, breaking them apart effectively. Flustered, Katari smoothed her skirt, and took her time in gathering up her blanket. Opichi huddled behind Pétant, hugging his back and looking suitably cowed. Katari sniffed in agitation and took one last, long sip of her spirit-drink.
“Let us go, wife,” Nicholas murmured with an uncharacteristic edge to his voice, and a hard tug on her elbow. She nearly coughed the liquid out. It tingled strangely against her tongue, and was hard to swallow. It also smelled funny. It was truly disappointing, although she would never admit it.
She kept her head held high, and waved regally at the townsmen who called out her name when they exited. Her steps weaved a bit oddly as she walked.
Nicholas expelled a forceful breath when the tavern door shut with a clack behind them. “You two could not keep yourselves in check for one, simple night?” he ground out.
“We’ve been in that dismal room for days,” Katari countered immediately. “You expect us to cook and toil for you, and yet, to forgo this special time to make such needed happiness?”
“That is exactly so, Katari,” Nick fired back. “You will do what we tell you to do, here in this settlement. My rules are for your own safety, not for ours. Opichi should understand this well, even if you do not.”
“Wiidige?” Opichi questioned worriedly.
Katari sighed loudly. “She wants to know when she is to become a real wife. She is anxious for this to happen.”
Pétant reddened. “I will need to find a man of faith tomorrow. Or at the very least, a reputable judge. Opichi will not only be a country wife. I wish to have her for good, you see, Katari. I mean to take care of her always.”
Katari felt the warmth of little tears squeeze at the corners of her eyes at the big man’s open words. She blinked them back, and carefully relayed the information to Opichi, who held her head high and smiled brightly in response.
She then slanted her gaze in Nick’s direction. “Does her agreement ensure her unsuspecting enslavement to the bear-man forever?” she asked archly.
“Yes,” he growled irritably, without looking at her. He only continued to haul her by the elbow along the darkened footpath. The moonlight doused them with enough light to walk without tripping. It lined his grim face with feathery shadows, softening his harsh expression with its pale glow.
“Miishaa vii,” Opichi voiced suddenly and stridently. “Miishanowe.” She shook her head and bit her lip.
“She need not fret, Pétant is a gentle giant,” Nicholas grumbled. “Opichi already knows this well.”
“No, that is not what she said. She is worrying about Pétant’s beard right now,” Katari muttered back. “Not about his temperament. Opichi does not want a husband with su
ch oddly hairy cheeks.”
“Nimaamaa nad aanawendan,” Opichi moaned loudly.
“Her mother would not like it,” Katari relayed.
“Jesus Christ,” Pétant roared. “I will shave the damned beard.”
Katari sniffed, “I can assure you that her mother would not care for such foul language, either.”
Pétant shook his head. “I could never win an argument with a woman, no matter what the language.”
“It’s pointless to try, friend,” Nick added sarcastically. “I thought you knew this fact.”
“It is not pointless to try, Nicholas,” Katari admonished in his ear. “The love of a good woman is what makes a man his strongest. And the support of her family can mean a much better life for them both.”
“She is wise,” Pétant relented.
Nicholas only sighed. They had reached the little room that was a temporary home. “It’s going to get extra cozy in here tonight,” he grumbled.
~~~~~
The morning dawned sunny and warm once again. White clouds hung suspended in a clear, blue sky. Gulls and other river birds called down from above. Katari yearned to bathe in the flowing waters just beyond the settlement. She felt unclean, having often sweated in the unusual humidity of the week. She was truly sick of washing with tepid bowls of wash-water and rags.
Before her, a disgruntled Pétant sat in a chair that had been pulled to the center of the room. She had draped rags around his massive chest and was lathering up his beard with a creamy, white substance. The men had purchased this ‘shaving’ paraphernalia, and Katari had readily pretended that she knew what she was doing. The truth was, she had never shaved a man before, and Opichi was simply too nervous to even venture a try on her wedding day. The cheeks and chests of Native men were smooth and brown, and such a thing as shaving was basically unheard of. This would be a new experience for her.
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