Frontier Agreement

by Shannon Farrington

  Miss Manette’s eyes brightened, instantly reminding him of the color of grass following a warm spring rain. She immediately relayed the offer to her mother. Evening Sky seemed just as pleased.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lafayette,” Miss Manette said. “We would greatly appreciate that.”

  The look of consternation from earlier was now completely gone. It pleased him that he had pleased her.

  “It is after all, the Lord’s birthday,” he said. “We should mark the occasion accordingly.”

  “Indeed.”

  They continued to compile their list. Today they were speaking of plants, of medicinal remedies.

  “This root in particular my mother says is used for the cure of mad dog and snake bites.”

  “That’s useful information to have,” Pierre said. “How is it applied?”

  “You crush the root and place it on the affected area twice a day.”

  Madame Manette then said something to her daughter. The younger woman chuckled.

  “What did she say?” Pierre asked.

  “She said not to chew or swallow any part of the root or there will be contrary affects.”

  “What kind of contrary affects?”

  “You could die.”

  Pierre chuckled himself. “Yes, I can see where that could present a problem.”

  When the bugle sounded for supper, he bid the ladies a momentary farewell and returned to his quarters. “Mark the occasion accordingly.” His own words echoed in his ears. No matter the fact that they were hundreds of miles from any church, Pierre thought he should look his best. He changed into a fresh shirt and then gave his coat a good brushing. Sergeant Ordway had a looking glass. Pierre asked to borrow it and stared long and hard at his reflection.

  The captains had maintained scraped chins and cropped hair on this journey, but most of the men, including Pierre, had let their locks and beards grow. Black curls now framed his angular face, and thick bristles completely hid the slight cleft of his chin.

  He chuckled to himself. If his mother and sister were to see him now, they’d proclaim he’d gone native. Oddly, the “natives” here were always clean-shaven.

  He reached for a razor. A few strokes into the task, he realized he wasn’t doing it to emulate his captains, or even out of respect to Providence. He was doing it for someone else entirely.

  * * *

  All day long, Claire had been plagued by conflicting emotions. The anticipation she had felt last night concerning Mr. Lafayette’s requested dance had been replaced by guilt. What right had she to dance when her world was in such desperate circumstances? Wouldn’t the time tonight be better spent in prayer and reflection on Scripture? Mr. Lafayette had offered to read.

  And yet Father celebrated Christmas with prayer and merrymaking. Claire remembered vividly how he had played his fiddle and how his feet hopped across the cabin floor. When she was very little, he’d sometimes laid the instrument aside, taken her hands in his. She’d climbed upon his boots, ridden his steps, giggled and laughed while his booming voice rang out.

  “Christmas we sing here! Devout people, let us shout our thanks to God...”

  And shout they did. Sing they did. It was not a solemn time. It was a time of hope, and now more than ever, she needed to hold on to that hope. The snow was deepening. Winter sicknesses would soon make their rounds. There were herbs and teas that sometimes brought a sufferer through the worst, and this year there was thankfully the addition of Captain Lewis’s pills. Still, Claire couldn’t help but wonder how many Mandans would pass into darkness before the dawn of earthly spring.

  She sighed heavily. Her mother’s health worried her in particular. Although her mother seemed to have regained her strength, there was something in her eyes that told Claire whatever sickness had ailed her had not been cured. It had only been lulled to sleep. How fierce would it be when it awakened?

  Evening Sky snipped a thread. “I have finished it,” she announced, and she held up her creation.

  Claire gasped in wonder at the sight of the dress she had crafted. Her mother had always been quick and skillful with a needle, but the broadcloth dress she had fashioned over the past few days was anything but simple or ordinary.

  The skirt was longer than Claire’s deerskin dress. It was down to her ankles. The scooped neckline and high, gathered waist were in the style of what she’d seen from the fashion plates back in Illinois, but at the same time different. Evening Sky had taken the beaded border from her buffalo robe and stitched it onto the scarlet fabric. She had sacrificed her own ornaments to adorn her daughter. Tears collected in Claire’s eyes. It was the perfect dress for her, French and Indian.

  “Oh, Mother, it is beautiful.”

  “Come,” Evening Sky commanded lovingly. “Put it on.”

  Despite her earlier misgivings, Claire would wear the dress. She would dance and she would allow herself to enjoy this evening. She would think of happy times of the past and hope for happy times in the future. Lord, You came into a dark, weary land on that first Christmas. Most didn’t recognize You at first, and yet You still changed the world. Help me to remember that. Help me to remember that my life, my mother’s life and those of my people are in Your hands.

  “You will need to keep your inner tunic and leggings,” her mother said, “for this fabric is not so fitted for winter on the plains.”

  Claire laid aside her outer articles of animal skin. The broadcloth was not as warm, but it did not matter. She could stand the chill for one evening. She ran her hands over the beading while her mother fastened the back of the gown. How she wished she had a full-length looking glass so she might see her entire image.

  Evening Sky then began to undo her daughter’s braids. “I’ll pile your hair on top of your head,” she said, “just like I used to do.”

  Claire smiled to herself. She had not worn her hair up since she had come to the Mandan village. It would be a wonderful change.

  In a few minutes, the transformation was complete. Claire’s dark locks had been fashioned into a bun. Small twigs served in place of hairpins, but they held just as securely. She’d never had need for curling papers, either. The few stands left at the sides of her face were already curling on their own.

  She couldn’t help but wonder what Mr. Lafayette would think when he saw her dressed this way. A flicker of excitement danced through her. Just what would he say?

  Chapter Six

  Pierre stood respectfully as the door to the women’s hut opened. When Madame Manette stepped out dressed in her customary animal skins, minus the usual ornamentation, Pierre wondered if he had been remiss in donning his best clothing. Did the women dress even more simply this night to mark the King’s birth in a humble stable?

  Then he saw the mademoiselle and knew otherwise. Enchanté, he thought, for enchanting was exactly what she was. He’d been right when he’d thought she could fit in easily in a New Orleans ballroom. Her hair piled high accentuated the elegance of her neck and shoulders, and the dress she wore tonight revealed curves that her ordinary deer skin tunic did not.

  She is absolutely beautiful.

  He bowed formally as she approached. She curtsied and wished him a good evening. Pierre was so tongue-tied that all he could do was nod in response.

  “You will be as cold tonight as I am,” she said.

  “Hmm?” He realized then she was referring to his absent whiskers. He rubbed his chin. It was cold. “Yes...but, well, not very. Clouds are rolling in... There will be no stars tonight, therefore...the temperature...will be more moderate.”

  She chuckled softly. Leaving him to wonder if the response was simply inner joy or amusement at the problem he was suddenly having with his speech. Turning, he greeted her mother with a nod and a simple smile, and then offered them both a seat at the fire.

  S
ergeant Ordway quickly handed Miss Manette a plate of food, and Private Howard brought water. Pierre knew immediately there would be competition for mademoiselle’s attention tonight, and he did not like it. Some of the men here seemed intent on cultivating romance with every pretty face they encountered. He would see to it that they kept their distance.

  He shot the men a warning glare, then turned to Madame Manette. In broken Mandan, Pierre offered her something to eat. She nodded and accepted a plate with a smile, one that held a hint of impishness. Was his Mandan as poor as his French tonight, or did she realize how her daughter was affecting him? Affecting them all?

  Sergeant Ordway glared at Pierre until he was summoned by Captain Clark. Before Private Howard could claim the spot beside the younger woman, Madame Manette pointed to Pierre, motioning for him to claim the place. He did not have to be asked twice.

  “She is eager to have you read the Scriptures,” Miss Manette said. “I read them to her, but it is different with a man.”

  “You have a Bible?”

  “My father’s. It was one item we managed to carry away with us.”

  “She misses him,” Pierre said knowingly.

  Evening Sky nodded and laid a hand over her heart.

  “Very much so,” her daughter said. “As I imagine you must miss your own family, especially tonight.”

  The sleeve of her dress was touching his arm. He wasn’t thinking of his family in this moment, but he forced his mind to go there.

  “Right about now they will be preparing to go to church.”

  “Is your church a large one?” she asked.

  “I suppose,” he said, “although I would scarcely consider it a cathedral.”

  “Does it have colorful glass in its windows?”

  “Yes. Each window depicts a scene from the Bible.” He saw the wonder in her face. Oddly, he had stared at such images for years and never once truly appreciated their beauty or meaning.

  She smiled. “I should like to see something like that one day.”

  “Had you a church in Illinois?”

  “No. At least, not a church building. We simply gathered in our cabin, and those who wished to join us did.”

  She nibbled daintily on her bread. Pierre couldn’t help but smile at the paradox. Physically she was as strong as an ox yet at times she appeared as delicate as a hothouse flower.

  “When your expedition is complete, do you expect to return to New Orleans?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. He’d apparently answered a little too adamantly, for the look she gave him then pricked his conscience. Evidently she couldn’t imagine that anyone who had the opportunity to return to family would not immediately do so.

  He tried to explain. “I care deeply for my parents, for my brothers and sister, but I have always sensed that their life, their business was not for me...that there was something else I was meant to do.”

  “You will be given a grant of land upon completing this expedition, will you not?”

  Though land was surely a painful subject, she had said the words without any hint of animosity. “Yes,” he said.

  “I heard one of the other Frenchmen speaking of it. He seemed a bit jealous of you.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Pierre replied. “I suppose it is because Captain Lewis has chosen me to continue westward.”

  She blinked. “I thought all of you were heading west.”

  “Only the soldiers, myself and the interpreters. Most of the oarsmen, the Frenchmen, will return on the keelboat to Saint Louis in the spring, as the boat is too large to navigate the northern Missouri.”

  “Then you were specially chosen,” she said, “with honor.”

  “I’m not so certain it was that, exactly. There was simply an opening. One of the original soldiers will be sent home in the spring...a matter of having disobeyed a set of orders long before our arrival here. I was selected to take his place, and yes...if I complete the expedition successfully, I will receive a land grant, but I had no idea of such a gain when I signed on.”

  “No?”

  “I am eager to explore. I want to stand on my own two feet, but there is something more to why I do this. Something different. I don’t know what exactly... I just sense it.”

  She smiled softly. “God has other purposes for you,” she said.

  He wanted to believe that. “I wish I knew what those purposes were,” he said.

  She nodded sympathetically. “You will know when the time is right. God will reveal His will to you.”

  No doubt she struggled with knowing her purpose in life, as well, or at least believing her purpose would bear fruit. “Merci, mademoiselle. I appreciate you saying that.”

  With that, he pulled his frayed Bible from his coat pocket. “And the will of the Lord is discovered in His word, is it not?”

  She smiled again.

  “The gospel of Matthew or Luke?” he asked.

  “Both, if you please.”

  He returned her smile and then began to read.

  * * *

  Claire felt a warmth building inside her as Mr. Lafayette read through the account of the Nativity. His rich, deep voice was clear and strong, yet gentle and reassuring. He made no show of what he was doing, commanded no audience, but his simple straightforwardness drew her close, and others, as well.

  His fellow French voyagers had all gathered around, and even the English-speaking men, though they could not understand the words, recognizing the holiness of Scriptures, paused in their conversations and kept silent before the Creator.

  Oh, how Claire treasured this moment. How she garnered strength from the words. “‘For unto you is born this day, a savior which is Christ the Lord...’”

  A savior for these men here, for the Mandan, a savior for all...

  When Mr. Lafayette closed his reading, Mr. Jessaume started singing the carol “Noël Nouvelet.” Those who could speak French joined him, Claire included. “‘Soon the kings, by the bright star, to Bethlehem came one morning...’”

  The singing grew. “‘New Christmas! Christmas we sing here!’”

  When the final stanza closed, Captain Clark, who had been watching from his hut door, called out to Mr. Jessaume, “I’m afraid I don’t know that one, but here is one we sing where I come from...” Crossing the parade ground, he boisterously began, “‘Joy to the world! The Lord is come...’”

  There was a chuckle or two from the men. Apparently they were unaccustomed to their captain making merry, but those who could sing soon joined in.

  “‘Let heaven and heaven and nature sing!’”

  Evening Sky leaned her head close to Claire and whispered, “French, American, Mandan...in Christ there is no difference.”

  How Claire prayed others would see it that way, too. If they did, the future would be glorious.

  Private Cruzette tuned up his fiddle. Rising then to his feet, he started taking requests. The carols he knew he played with speed and enthusiasm. Those he didn’t, he picked his way through as best as he could. There was laughter. There was joy. Claire’s heart was full.

  Soon the men commenced dancing. None of the steps were formal, but it did not matter. The fast stepping and knee slapping were as delightful to watch as a polished minuet. Although when Mr. Lafayette stood and held out his hand to her, Claire felt her merriment vanish. How exactly would they step together?

  “I’m afraid I don’t know this,” she said.

  “Neither do I,” he admitted. “It will be alright. Just follow me. I promise we will not end up in a heap.”

  “As you say, sir.” She took his hand. His fingers closed around hers, and a warmth enveloped her. She could see the firelight flickering in his dark eyes. He was a handsome man, considerably more so now, without his beard. His cheekbones were chisele
d, and a slight cleft marked his chin. Claire’s heart skipped erratically as they stepped hand in hand in time with the music.

  It wasn’t long before the simple fiddle became a stringed orchestra and the flickering firelight a chandelier’s glow. Not that she had actually ever seen such things, but she had heard of them, and having heard of them, she could imagine them.

  It was not all pomp and circumstance, however. She stepped on his foot once and he, in turn, upon hers. They laughed. They stumbled. He caught her squarely in his arms. The moment he did, Claire felt a surge of energy inside her, one she had never known before.

  “I promised you we would not end up in a heap on the ground,” he said.

  “So you did.”

  Something significant passed between them then. Claire sensed it in her soul, saw it in his eyes. The intimacy frightened her. Immediately she took a step back. Confusion quickly darkened his features, but being the gentlemen he was, he let go of her.

  The wind gusted. Claire looked toward her mother, fearful of how this cold air could be affecting her. Should she take leave? Escort her mother back to the hut?

  Evening Sky, however, looked quite content. Captain Lewis was now sitting beside her, gesturing to her with signs, and she responded with the same to him, both doing the best to communicate with each other.

  “Your mother seems to be enjoying herself,” Mr. Lafayette remarked.

  Claire watched her for a few seconds. She recognized that smile, that look of fondness on her mother’s face. “She’s telling him about my father.”

  “They must have loved each other very much.”

  “They did.” She could feel a lump growing in her throat. Would she ever know such a love? Such a partnership?

  “My father is not an outdoorsman,” Mr. Lafayette said, “but every Christmas Eve he takes my brothers and me into the woods to collect pine boughs and berries because he knows my mother loves the smell of them.”

  Claire returned his gaze. “My father did the same. Our cabin was filled with greenery.”

  “And a crèche?”