This time the boy offered more of a smile. Three Horses then came and scooped him up into his arms.
“I will take him to the white chief,” he said.
Claire nodded respectfully, and then looked at Cries Like a Dove. Her face was beset with tears, but she, too, nodded.
“Go with them,” she pleaded, “for you speak the white man’s tongue.”
Claire wanted to be of assistance, of course, but beyond moral support for the family, she wasn’t really needed at the fort. Sacagawea’s husband would be there. He could speak the languages necessary for communication. She did not wish to leave her mother, especially now that the rest of her family was slighting her.
Cries Like a Dove must have guessed as much, although what details she actually knew, Claire could not say. “I shall tend to Evening Sky in your absence,” she offered.
This was a tender woman, and Claire knew she would care for her mother most gently. Though appreciative, Claire still hesitated. If she went to the fort, she might see Pierre.
But this is an opportunity to show this family the love of God. “Very well,” she told Three Horses’s wife. “I shall accompany your family to the fort.”
* * *
Pierre recognized Claire even before she had finished crossing the ice. A warrior was traveling with her. In his arms he carried a bundle. Pierre’s heart thumped at the sight of her, half in excitement, half in fear. Why was she coming to the fort? Had something dreadful happened to her? To her mother? Was Running Wolf putting her out of the village? Had Pierre precipitated such by his letter?
Worried for her welfare, he had labored over the correspondence for hours by the flicker of candlelight. He would much rather have spoken to her face-to-face, seen for himself how she and her mother were faring, but Captain Lewis had insisted he remain at the fort. He could not go against the man again. If he did, Pierre doubted Lewis would even wait for the ice to thaw before sending him back to Saint Louis. He was liable to send him packing now—and that wouldn’t do Pierre or Claire any good.
He had been especially grieved that her father’s Bible had been destroyed. He knew how much it had meant to her and her mother. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and thinking a few pages of thin paper could be hidden easier than an entire book, Pierre had torn out his favorite Bible passage and enclosed it in his letter.
“But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.”
The verse from Philippians was the one that had given him courage to finally step out on his own. Now he wondered if his good intentions had caused further trouble. Had Running Wolf found the Scripture pages? Although the warrior could not read French, he was smart enough to know what they were if he found them—especially since he had probably seen the pages of his brother-in-law’s Bible many times.
Captain Lewis’s warning echoed in his ears. “You are here to observe, not interfere...”
The sun glare upon the snow was wreaking havoc on his eyes, but as she came closer, Pierre realized the Indian accompanying her was not her uncle, and the bundle he carried was not a collection of blankets and goods but an injured boy.
Leaving the hunting party that was about to depart, Pierre hurried to meet Claire. As she recognized him, a momentary look of happiness filled her face, one that warmed his heart. The look, however, was quickly replaced by an expression of seriousness as she explained why she had come.
“Captain Clark told Three Horses that if this should happen, he was to come to the fort.”
Pierre felt sorry for the child and even sorrier for the father who carried him. The man was obviously struggling with his decision to bring him here. Surely he knew what was about to happen. “Captain Clark is presently tending a soldier down with pleurisy,” Pierre said, “but Captain Lewis is available.”
Claire explained this to the warrior. Apparently convinced that one captain was as good as the other, he nodded his approval.
“Would you kindly escort us to Captain Lewis?” she asked Pierre.
“At once.” He almost added that it would be his pleasure, but of course, given the circumstances surrounding her presence, it was anything but. He wanted to ask her how she and her mother were faring, and if she had read his letter, but he didn’t.
He marched them straight to the captain’s quarters. Lewis was once again at his desk, this time surrounded by the preserved animals and pressed plants he had collected thus far along the route. He left them at once to see to the boy.
“Tell his father that, regrettably, the toes must be removed.”
Claire did so. Three Horses’ strong jaw twitched, but he nodded his consent.
“Mr. Lafayette,” the captain then said, “I could use your assistance.”
“Yes sir.” Pierre would do whatever necessary to help, of course, but surgery was a skill he had not yet acquired. Thankfully the only real assistance asked of him was fetching bandages and blocking the child’s view of the procedure.
The Indian boy bore the gruesome trial bravely. The few times he wavered, Pierre had laid his hand to his shoulder, patted him encouragingly or showed him his knife. The boy took a special interest in that. According to Claire, he wanted to know if Pierre had killed many buffalo with it.
He couldn’t help but chuckle at that. He was brave with a musket, but not so brave as to sneak up on such a monstrous beast and prick it with a pin. If Black Raven had felled an animal this way, then he was a warrior indeed.
Captain Lewis removed all of the toes from the boy’s left foot, then carefully wrapped a bandage around it. “Your son will need to remain here for a few days so that I may observe his progress,” he said.
Claire translated the words with grace and reassurance. Her voice was like music to a restless, stormed-tossed soul. The Indian father again nodded his consent.
The captain then offered the man the opportunity to stay with his son. The invitation did not extend to Claire, though he did ask her if she would be kind enough to help settle father and son in a hut.
“Of course, captain,” she said with that quick and proper curtsy. Watching her, Pierre couldn’t help but wonder what her life would have been like if her father had lived. Would she have remained in Illinois or would she have embarked on other adventures?
How different would my life be if I had met her in New Orleans? Pierre had never been interested in courtship or marriage, but perhaps that was because I had yet to find the right woman.
The thought jolted him so that he nearly dropped the bandage roll he was now holding. A smile, a dance, a touch of the hand to convey compassion was one thing, but this was not New Orleans, and he was not in love.
This is an Indian Village, a temporary stop en route to the Pacific.
Besides, she wasn’t interested in him like that, anyway. She had turned blood red in embarrassment at the chief’s suggestion that Pierre might make her his wife.
Awkwardness aside, he couldn’t let her go back to her village without making certain she was alright. After she had settled the guests, he asked her, “May I speak with you for a moment?”
She nodded.
Pierre drew her gently toward the forge. She did not resist his lead. Evidently the blacksmith had gone to gather supplies, but his unattended fire lay smoldering. Pierre gave it a poke. As he did, an odd feeling came over him. This was the place where they had once conspired to bring Christmas cheer. “Are you well?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her eyes told him otherwise. No doubt she was worried about what the future would bring. He couldn’t blame her for that.
“And your mother?”
“She is keeping faith.” Her jaw twitched slightly. “I am trying my best to do the same.”
Pierre swallowed hard. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but he couldn’t coherently phrase hi
s thoughts.
“Thank you for your letter,” she said. “It was a great comfort, especially the Bible passage.”
“I hope it did not cause you further trouble.”
“No. I hid it safely beneath my pallet and read it only when others are sleeping. I must be especially careful now that—”
He waited for her to finish. When she didn’t, he prompted her, “Now that what?”
She looked away.
“Claire?”
Reluctantly she told him about what had happened when the medicine men had come to visit, and how her family had treated her this morning in the aftermath. Listening, Pierre drew in a breath. The chief and Running Wolf were tolerating her faith for now, probably because of what had happened to Evening Sky, but if God did not intervene, the mother was going to die. What was to become of Claire? Forbidden to interfere with tribal customs or not, Pierre had to do something.
“Captain Lewis offered to find you work once before...”
“No,” she said immediately. “That is not the way.”
She turned quickly for the parade ground. He admired her commitment to her family, to her faith, but it scared him to think what she might be asked to give up for the sake of them. He followed her as far as the front gate. The western sky was awash in various shades of gold, red and orange.
She paused to take in the view. “Such beauty,” she said.
He could hear the longing in her voice, the desire for freedom, for peace. “Indeed,” he said. “Sacagawea says that west of here, the great mountains look purple in the fading light.” He paused, then mused, “I wonder how the ocean will look.”
“I should like to see such things...”
“Perhaps one day,” he said.
She turned her eyes to him. “Man is to the road. Woman is to the hearth.”
Wind tugged at her buffalo robe. The fur about her face skimmed her cheeks. Pierre had the sudden desire to reach out and brush it away, but he refrained from doing so.
He looked at her. She looked at him.
“I must go,” she said abruptly. “Cries Like a Dove will be concerned for her family...” She took a step, then stopped, turned back. “And I think that, given the circumstances with my family, it would be better if you did not visit our lodge again.”
Not visit? He could understand if she, like Captain Lewis, thought it best for him to stay away for a few days to allow her uncle’s anger to cool, but the way she’d thrown the sentence to him told him she wanted a more permanent separation. Had he offended her? He asked.
“No,” she said, “of course not.” But she would no longer look him in the eye. “It would just be better if...”
“I promised I would protect you.” He waited. “Claire, look at me...”
When she finally lifted her eyes, her look was hard, stubborn. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. “I don’t need your protection,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me...my mother has need of me.”
With that, she hurried off. Pierre stood dumbstruck, watching her disappear in the fading winter light.
* * *
Claire hurried from the fort as fast as she could manage. She knew coming here had been a mistake. She was thankful that Black Raven had been tended. Thankful that Captain Lewis was confident his foot could be saved. She was thankful Three Horses had been permitted to stay with his son during his recovery. But when she thought of Pierre, gratefulness battled with a hundred other emotions.
She had stood beside a noble and kind man, clad in buckskin, his beard and hair once again as ragged as any ruffian trader. He, like her, was caught somewhere between two civilizations, not fully at home in either. Today, though, in the middle of the dark, ramshackle hut, they had helped a suffering Mandan boy and comforted a worrying father. Between them, they had exchanged glances and assured each other that things would be alright. She had never felt more at home. With him at her side, Claire felt as though she could face any challenge, meet any danger that came her way.
And then, the way he looked at me when I told him about my family...when I told him how Spotted Eagle pulled his sister away and how my own cousin fled my presence as if I carried the plague...
He’d felt her pain, and in sharing it added an entirely new level to her own. She could claim that all she felt for him was friendship, the fellowship of a Christian brother or the longing for her father’s culture, but she knew the truth. She was falling in love with a man who did not share her feelings.
And he will be gone by spring.
Claire felt the air rush from her lungs. If it hurt this badly to think of him leaving, what would she suffer when he actually did? He had spoken of purple mountains, of vast oceans, all things she would never see, although when he had spoken of them, she’d wanted nothing more than for him to gather her in his arms, kiss her and then carry her off to that place.
How can I even be thinking of such things, let alone desiring them, when my family, my tribe is in such desperate need? How can I long for escape when my mother needs me so?
She quickened her pace. Despite Claire’s prayers, Evening Sky was gravely ill, and Cries Like a Dove would be most anxious to learn of her son’s fate. Captain Lewis had assigned Pierre to tend the boy. Claire knew both Black Raven and his father would be well looked after.
I was right in asking him not to visit the lodge again. He has his duties. I have mine. And with Running Wolf suspicious of him, it will be better if he remains at the fort. It will certainly be better for me.
She told herself that repeatedly, but her heaviness of heart stayed with her all the way back to the village.
Chapter Eleven
January drifted into February, and the knee-deep snow and the cold winds of winter brought further hardship to the prairie. Despite tribal efforts to call the buffalo, not a single animal had made an appearance for weeks. Food stores were running low.
Evening Sky grew weaker, although her spirit remained strong. She insisted God would bring healing. Claire did her best to believe, but the dire predictions Captain Lewis made on his visits did little to encourage her faith. Nevertheless, Evening Sky had a sense of peace about her, one that resonated in her eyes. The calmness fostered a sense of curiosity in Cries Like a Dove.
The young woman had come often to see Claire’s mother during the time her husband and son stayed at the fort. Although Running Wolf and the rest of the lodge continued to shun them, he did not forbid the woman’s visits. When curiosity turned to questions, Claire and Evening Sky told her stories of Jesus. Although at this point Cries Like a Dove accepted only that Christ was a wise and kind teacher, Claire held on to hope.
The day then came when the woman wished to say a prayer to Jesus. “I wish to ask Him that my son and husband would return well from the fort.”
Three Horses and Black Raven returned to the village by the time of the hunger moon, the name given in these parts to the full moon of the month. The boy, although walking now with a slight limp, was no worse for wear. Three Horses was most grateful for the kindnesses the white men had shown him, particularly Pierre. Claire felt the double emotions of joy and pain at the mention of his name.
Three Horses was also pleased by the friendship his wife was forming with Claire and Evening Sky. Apparently Cries Like a Dove had shared the women’s stories with her husband, and told him of her prayer.
Claire wondered how Three Horses would take such news. Would he, like Running Wolf, believe his wife was forsaking the path of her ancestors?
Evidently he did not. “Your stories dry my wife’s tears,” he said to Claire. “You help my son. You help my squaw. Both good for my child.”
Meaning, the baby who would soon join the tribe. Meanwhile at the fort, Sacagawea had given birth to a healthy baby boy. Charbonneau came boasting of the news just before sunset
on the eleventh of February. He had given the child a French name—Jean Baptiste.But already the Mandans as well as Captain Clark had taken to calling the boy Pompey—Little Chief.
Although food was scarce, there were music and rejoicing in the village to celebrate the baby’s birth. Evening Sky had done her best to craft a tiny set of moccasins for the child but was unable to complete them. Claire was seeing to the task, her mother looking on, one evening when the call went out through the village to assemble at the tree of the Lone Man. Chief Black Cat was to address the tribe.
Evening Sky tried to rouse herself but was far too weak to do so.
“Stay, Mother,” Claire insisted gently. “I shall make your excuses to our chief if he asks for you.”
When Claire stepped from the lodge, the western sky was the color of fire. Beautiful and captivating, it reminded her of the night she had parted with Pierre. Absence did truly make the heart grow fonder, because Claire was no closer to forgetting him than the day she had promised herself that she would.
She missed him terribly. She missed his curly black hair, his handsome smile, the stately way he carried himself. Every time she caught a distant glimpse of a man carrying a musket, clad in a buckskin coat, her pulse quickened, only to slow in disappointment when she discovered it was not him.
It did so now as she recognized Captain Clark. He and Charbonneau were standing in the plaza with Chief Black Cat. The taut look on her chief’s face told Claire that something was terribly wrong. Whispers circulated around her. When Chief Black Cat raised his hands to speak, a hush fell over the crowd.
“The white chiefs say our great enemy has attacked.”
No one needed to be told who the great enemy was. There was no one the Mandan tribe feared more than the Sioux. Claire’s stomach knotted as the story unfolded. According to Black Cat, by way of Charbonneau and Clark, a party of men from the fort had been out hunting several miles below the river. Upon their return, a band of Sioux, an estimated one hundred warriors, had rushed on them.
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