Frontier Agreement

by Shannon Farrington

  Was it peace these men actually sought? Is that why they compiled their lists and studied her tribe’s customs? Or did they have something else entirely in mind? Something far more sinister? Were they studying them to learn their weaknesses, to learn how to defeat them?

  Lord, protect my people. Protect my mother. Protect me.

  Evening Sky scooted closer to the small fire Claire had kindled in the stone ring in the center of the room, but it did little to provide warmth or cheer. The ground was cold and hard, and not nearly as level as that of her own lodge. Carefully she piled buffalo skins and woolen blankets left by the previous occupants of the room, over the older woman.

  “Thank you, child, but do not fret,” her mother said.

  “I cannot help but fret over you,” Claire replied. “I love you.”

  Evening Sky offered her a smile. “And I you...but trust.”

  The last word seemed to carry more meaning than just an assurance of her mother’s health, and Claire’s conscience was pricked. When Mr. Lafayette knocked upon the door a few moments later, a crate of supplies in hand, Claire did her best to walk the fine line between cordiality and guardedness, to be shrewd as a serpent but harmless as a dove.

  While her mother watched silently from the corner of the room, beadwork in hand, Claire took her place at a rough-hewn desk and began poring over the lists the Frenchmen presented her.

  “These are the words Charbonneau and Sacagawea compiled with Mr. Jessaume,” he said. “They say you call yourselves the ‘people of the pheasants.’” He tried to pronounce what had been written. “See-pohs-ka-na—”

  “See-pohs-ka-nu-mah-kah-kee,” Claire corrected him.

  He struggled to repeat the phrase. “And is Sacagawea ‘of the pheasant people’?”

  “No,” Claire explained. “She is of the west. Across the great mountains. She and Otter Woman were captives of war.”

  “War seems to be a way of life in this land,” he said.

  A land of less than proper society, you mean. “Is it not a way of life in all lands?” she replied. “Those who do not fight for territory or hunting rights fight for gold or covet their neighbor’s possessions.”

  She could hear the terseness in her voice and a touch of self-righteousness, too. Again her conscience was pricked. What am I doing? Why do I seek to provoke him? Will it not undermine the purpose for which I have come? Am I not here to foster peace?

  She was just about to apologize, but Mr. Lafayette had already moved on. “Captain Lewis also wishes to compile a history of your people,” he said. “Charbonneau has already told us of the early history, how the tribe migrated to this land. He’s told us as well of your relations with neighboring peoples, the wars and the sicknesses that have greatly reduced your numbers.”

  “Yes,” Claire acknowledged quietly, her heart squeezing. Her people had been dying for centuries. Dying without the truth. What am I doing to change that?

  “What about family life?” he then asked. “Marriage. Children.”

  His question touched upon another set of emotions, ones she was determined to keep hidden. She gave Mr. Lafayette only a minimal explanation of marital arrangements. “Marriages are most often arranged by the members of a young woman’s family.” In my case, my uncle. If I do not find a proper husband before the end of spring, Running Wolf will choose one for me. “If a man wishes to accept the prospective bride, he brings her family a gift.”

  “Is that part of the formal marriage ceremony?”

  “There really isn’t a formal ceremony. At least not in any way to which you would be accustomed. On a certain day, a bride is simply presented to a warrior, and t-they b-begin their life together.” She stammered slightly over that last phrase, unable to keep from wondering just when that certain day would come for her.

  “I see,” he said. “And if a man is not pleased with his wife?”

  She swallowed back the lump growing in her throat. “A divorce can be easily obtained.” And then he seeks another wife, and if not pleased with her, then another. And even if she does please him, she can be bartered away, or he can take a second wife. She swallowed again. Is this to be my lot in life? Is this to be the continued way of life for the women of my tribe?

  There was little regard for the sacredness of marriage here, and certainly no concept of what it was meant to reflect—a partnership, mutual affection and joy, such as the love Christ had for his bride, the church. Nothing like what my mother and father had.

  “I see,” he said once again. “We’d also like to learn more of your religious beliefs.”

  “I worship God the Father and His son, Jesus, as does my mother,” Claire said without hesitation, “but my Mandan people do not.”

  “I suspected you did. I saw you bow your head to give thanks for the meat. I, too, am a Christian.”

  To that, Claire said nothing. She’d seen men claim the name of Christ before, then do the very opposite of what His holy words commanded. She cast a glance at her mother. She had seen it, as well.

  Evening Sky eyed her silently, but there was no hint of anger or resentment on her face.

  The Frenchman then pointed to the parchment in front of her. “In your opinion, are the vocabulary lists accurate?”

  Claire perused what had been compiled so far. “With the exception of one or two minor discrepancies.”

  “Would you be kind enough to correct them?” He dipped the quill in the ink well, then handed it to her.

  The feel of the feather, the scratch of the nub against the parchment, brought back a host of childhood memories. There had been no other children in her little Illinois community and therefore no school, but a visiting French priest had taught her the basics of reading and writing one autumn when her father was away.

  Leaning closer, Mr. Lafayette perused the corrections she was making. Claire couldn’t help but notice the broadness of his shoulders, the firmness of his jaw. He smelled of leather, gunpowder and coffee—strong, pleasing scents.

  She shook off the thoughts as the bugle sounded. He abruptly stepped back.

  “That’s the call for supper,” he explained.

  Good, Claire thought. Then you can be on your way.

  He rolled up the parchments, tied them with sinew. Looking then to her mother, he said, “Captain Lewis asks that you join us for the meal.”

  Evening Sky understood enough of his request to know hospitality had been extended. Such was commended among not only Christians but also Mandans. The older woman smiled appreciatively and nodded.

  Claire, however, was not so eager.

  Mr. Lafayette bowed to her mother. “Then I’ll see you both at the campfire,” he said, and with that, he left the room.

  “You do not like him,” her mother said matter-of-factly after Claire had shut the door behind him.

  “No. I do not,” she admitted.

  “And why is that?”

  Though a thousand thoughts and fears marched through her mind, the only coherent objection Claire could voice was the comment he’d made about proper society.

  “Perhaps he did not mean it the way it sounded,” Evening Sky said. “Grant him grace, child, and take heed that you do not harbor unforgiveness in your heart. It is like a weed. It will strangle any good fruit you wish to cultivate.”

  The unforgiveness Evening Sky warned against was prompted by the memory of Phillip Granger, the man who had stolen away what rightfully belonged to her and her mother. Claire drew in a breath. She had tried to forgive the man but couldn’t quite bring herself to do so, at least not with any lasting effect.

  Bitterness and suspicion still darkened her heart. Which is why I do not trust Mr. Lafayette or his captains...and it is likely the very reason I have seen no progress with my family. I am hindering the spread of the gospel.

  Her
mother smiled at her tenderly. “You are a brave and conscientious daughter,” she said, “and I am honored to have given birth to you and to have raised you, but you are not the Great Father. You cannot govern how others seek to treat you any more than you can restrain the rain clouds. All that you can control is your response.”

  And my response is crucial to peace—peace not only now but also in eternity. She wanted to be a light, but she knew she could not be one if she did not remain humble before God, if she did not walk in His ways. There was no room for suspicion, for haughtiness or hardness of heart along His path.

  God, forgive me. Help me...

  Evening Sky kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Come,” she said. “We mustn’t keep our hosts waiting.”

  With an uneasy sigh and the whisper of another prayer, Claire assisted her mother to the door.

  Chapter Three

  Claire silently ate the meat that had been doled out to her. Once again she was under the scrutiny of those around her. She could feel their stares. But for the two American captains who approached her to test a few of their newly acquired words, welcome, thank you, eat, peace, Claire spoke to no one.

  Mr. Lafayette watched her from across the cooking fire but did not venture any conversation. Claire’s mother, however, having noticed a torn seam in his coat, got up from her place and made signs to the Frenchman. With quicker understanding this time than he had shown during Black Cat’s offer of assistance, he shrugged off his coat. With a grateful smile and a merci, he handed it to Claire’s mother.

  Returning to her place beside her daughter, Evening Sky drew out a needle and a length of sinew from her deerskin pouch. At once she began mending the torn seam. The men crowded around the fire continued to stare. Claire marveled once again at her mother’s quiet grace. Her words repeated through her mind. “You cannot govern how others seek to treat you any more than you can restrain the rain clouds. All that you can control is your response.”

  And these men have souls, Claire thought, like my Mandan family. If they do not know Christ...then perhaps she had been placed at this fort for higher purpose than vocabulary. After all, peace between the neighboring tribes and with the white men could be achieved only if true peace came to each heart.

  She wanted to walk God’s path. If His path meant assisting a fort full of soldiers, responding kindly to their curious stares and ignorant remarks, then so be it.

  Charity slowly slaked her fear. Looking to Mr. Lafayette, she said, “Please tell your men if they have clothing that needs to be repaired, we will gladly see to it.”

  He relayed the message. At once the soldiers scurried to their quarters, returning with shirts, stockings and various items of buckskin and broadcloth. As the articles piled at her feet, Claire silently withdrew her own needle from her pouch and set to work. Curiosity soon waned. The men stopped staring. The gentle hum of conversation drifted about, some of it French, some of it English. Most of it centered on hunting elk, buffalo and the prize they all seemed to want most—the great brown bear.

  Claire couldn’t help but remember her father’s stories of the beast. He’d been eager to track one as well, until the day came when one tracked him.

  “I barely escaped with my own hide!” he’d said with a laugh.

  Though the danger had been deadly, Claire smiled at the image of her robust father running for his life, shedding every item he carried to hasten his speed.

  “The Lord surely looks after drunks and fools,” he’d said. To which her mother had playfully chided, “Neither of which is a good thing to be.”

  One of the soldiers produced a fiddle and began to play. As music filled the air, the men moved about, some to quarters, some to clean their muskets. The tensions of the day unwound to the rest of eventide. Claire felt herself beginning to settle, as well—until Mr. Lafayette approached her.

  “You and your mother are very kind to take on such a duty,” he said. “Most of our men are skilled tanners, but our clothing does not wear well. The river takes its toll.”

  “I imagine so,” Claire replied.

  He sat down beside her. Claire made her best attempt at a welcoming smile, then kept on with her work.

  “I saw an Indian woman in a village south of here making holes in the buffalo skin with a sharp piece of bone,” he said. “She then wove the sinew through with her fingers.”

  Claire nodded. “There are few sewing needles in this land. The women who have them have come by them by way of British or French traders.”

  His dark eyebrows arched. “Are there many British traders?”

  Claire might have been only a woman, and one far removed from European entanglements, at that, but she recognized political wariness when she saw it. Frenchmen did not like Englishmen, and from what she remembered of life in Illinois, Americans did not like them, either.

  “There are a few British,” she replied evenly. “They come every now and again.”

  “And do your people acquire many supplies from them?”

  Claire considered her words carefully. She was certain her comments would end up in a report to the captains, and she wanted to make the most of it. “The Mandans trade openly with anyone who treats them fairly and justly. My sewing implements, however, as well as my mother’s, did not come from the British traders. They were gifts from my father.”

  He nodded. Whether in relief or approval, she did not know. “He was well-known in this village?”

  “Yes, and respected by all.”

  A call from the sentinel on the catwalk captured Claire’s attention, as well as everyone else’s around her. The music and conversation stopped. A warrior was approaching. One apparently riding the captain’s horse.

  “It seems your uncle has come to pay you and your mother a visit,” Mr. Lafayette said.

  Is something amiss? “So it seems.” Claire laid aside the clothing and stood. The gate opened. In rode Running Wolf, looking stately and dignified as usual. Spotted Eagle sat behind him. Noticing her at the fire, Claire’s young cousin slid to the ground and immediately came running toward her. He fell upon her and her mother at once with kisses. Claire treasured every one of them, for she knew the time would soon come when he would think himself too old to display such affection.

  She scooped him into her arms. “You wiggle like a bear cub,” she said. “What brings you to the fort?”

  “I came to wish you well in your new life.”

  She laughed slightly. He had thought she was leaving him. She felt bad that her supposed departure had caused him sadness, but it warmed her heart to know that she had been missed. “Silly child,” she said with a laugh. “Do not fret. My work here at the fort is only for a few days. I shall return to the lodge soon.”

  Spotted Eagle shook his head. “Uncle said he wishes to make a trade with the captain.”

  Trade? The word made her breath hitch.

  “What kind of trade?” Evening Sky asked.

  “His horse for Claire.”

  Pain pierced Claire’s heart like an arrow, and fear and panic quickly spread through her veins. So this had been her uncle’s reason for sending her to the fort! He had purposed to sell her as a squaw, a slave to the American captain. She hadn’t doubted his ability to consider such a thing if she’d failed to find a husband within her tribe in the time he permitted, but he had promised her a year of freedom before he would give her in marriage. She still had six months to go!

  Claire could not move. In fact, she could barely breathe. Evening Sky, however, seemed infused with fire. Though she had grown weaker in the months since her husband’s death, she now flew to Running Wolf with speed. Spotted Eagle quickly followed her.

  Oh, God...please...please help...

  Mr. Lafayette had witnessed the entire exchange with little understanding of the details, but he clearly recogniz
ed something was wrong. “What is it?” he asked. “Is there to be an attack?”

  Apparently he wasn’t the only one who thought that. Evening Sky was making such a commotion that Captain Clark now strode to where she and Running Wolf stood. He had his musket in hand. Captain Lewis for the moment remained at the fire, but his taut face and rigid stance told Claire he was poised to order action if necessary.

  Claire was trembling, but she did her best to gather her senses. The lives of many could depend on it. “You are not in danger,” she insisted. “There is no impending attack.”

  Mr. Lafayette quickly relayed her words to Lewis. Still, the man stood guard. “What is it, then?” the captain asked. “Why does Running Wolf come? Why is Madame Manette so angry with him?”

  Claire swallowed hard. Her cheeks burned with shame. “I-it is a f-family matter,” she stammered. She simply couldn’t bear to tell the captain exactly why her uncle had come. What would he think of her people if he heard of such a plan? Worse, what if he agreed to it?

  “It’s obviously a very distressing family matter,” Mr. Lafayette said. “You are trembling.” He reached for her hand. Claire’s immediate instinct was to jerk it free from his grasp, but she found she had not the strength to do so. His hand was rough and calloused, but his grip was gentle.

  “Perhaps you should again sit,” he said.

  She did so. Kneeling before her, he still kept hold of her hand. “Tell me, how may I assist you?” he asked. “I’m at your service.”

  The concern in his voice circumvented her defenses. Would he somehow be able to intervene on her behalf? One glance at her mother told Claire the woman was unsuccessful in changing her brother’s mind. Running Wolf was gesturing toward Claire, an adamant look on his chiseled face.

  “Mademoiselle?”

  With shame burning her cheeks, she told Lafayette what was taking place. The Frenchman’s eyes widened in disbelief, and then they flashed in anger. “A trade? You for a horse?”