Claire’s heart went to her throat. Instantly she thought of Pierre.
“Our great enemy has stolen the white men’s horses, weapons and game.”
According to the report, the small hunting party had been completely outnumbered and were forced to surrender their goods. Thankfully no one was killed, but since thieving could not be tolerated, especially when a sleigh of meat could mean the difference between eating and going hungry, the American captains had decided to pursue the Sioux and reclaim what was rightfully theirs.
Chief Black Cat agreed with their course of action. “White Chief Lewis will lead the hunt at sunrise,” he announced. “Any Mandan who goes with him will share his game.”
Running Wolf instantly volunteered. So did Golden Hawk, the medicine man’s son, and several others. While provisions were a motivating factor, Claire was certain it was not the only one.
“Mandan and Sioux will never live in peace,” she heard Running Wolf say to Golden Hawk, “no matter how much the white chiefs wish it.”
Claire’s stomach knotted. Was Running Wolf expressing his opinion or proposing a course of action? Was he joining Captain Lewis’s party to add strength of force or to attempt to provoke further trouble? Claire again thought of Pierre. If he had not been part of the first hunting group, then he would most certainly be part of the second. Would her uncle’s aggression put Pierre in danger?
As her fellow villagers dispersed, Claire lifted a silent prayer. Oh, God, grant wisdom, restraint and protection for all those involved...especially Pierre.
* * *
In the pale gray light just before daybreak, the men had assembled at the fort. Apprehension snaked its way up Pierre’s neck at the sight of Running Wolf among the Mandan men who would accompany them. Beside him stood a younger man about Pierre’s age whom he soon learned by way of Captain Lewis was Golden Hawk, the medicine man’s son. Neither of them was painted for war, but the expressions on their faces told Pierre they would welcome it if it came.
Peace through strength, Pierre thought.
It was the maxim Captain Lewis preached, believing the tribes could prosperously coexist if they would cease hostilities and promote peaceful relations and trade. Pierre couldn’t help but wonder, though, despite the Captain’s sincerity, if the philosophy was doomed to fail. Human nature went against it. In each tribe they had encountered, the old men liked the idea of peace, but not so the braves. The Mandans were no different. In this culture, young men earned respect and advancement by triumphing over their enemies.
Although no longer a young brave, Running Wolf still seemed itching to prove himself and just as bent on teaching the Sioux a lesson as the younger men of the party. Golden Hawk appeared to be cut from the same cloth. Pierre recognized that like Claire’s uncle, he had completed the Okipa ceremony twice. Both of his little fingers were missing.
The sun had breached the eastern horizon, casting the barren landscape in a fiery orange glow. Pierre couldn’t escape the thought that it wasn’t just the Sioux whom these men marked as an enemy. Though he’d had no dealing with Golden Hawk specifically, Pierre was fairly certain the son of a medicine man would not be open to a Christian message, either.
A dreadful thought crossed his mind then as he remembered once more what Sergeant Ordway had said. The medicine man, Golden Hawk’s father, had been seen watching Claire while speaking to Running Wolf. Perhaps the father wasn’t eyeing her for himself but for his son.
He was sickened by the thought. Pierre hadn’t seen her since that day at the fort, but as usual, he had thought of her constantly. For some reason, they were like oil and water, and why that frustrated him so he did not know. He could choose to stay away from her, but he did not wish to. One moment he despised her stubbornness. The next moment he foolishly wanted to kiss her.
He wondered if that had been evident at their last encounter. Was that why she had become offended? Did she think he was like some of the other men here, eager to steal affection with no thought of a lasting commitment?
He wasn’t certain what she thought. He was not even sure what he was really thinking. All he knew was that being near her seemed to fill something inside him, something that hunting and exploration had yet to satisfy, and that troubled him more than she herself did.
The party began to march, each man carrying his musket, bow or spear. Pierre marched a respectful distance from the warriors, mindful of their movements. He did not trust them, at least not the two that he’d been watching so closely.
Southward the men trekked. Each man kept his eyes on the horizon for any sign of the Sioux.
About midday, they spied at a distance the primitive shelters Captain Clark had erected on the previous hunt. Here they expected to find a cache of meat. The yield had been so great, they had not been able to transport all of it previously. That had been a good thing, for if they had, the Sioux would have stolen the extra, as well, when they’d attacked the hunting party. Nearing the spot, however, Pierre and the rest of the men’s hopes fell. The huts had been burned, and among the charred remains of wood was the load of burned carcasses. The Sioux hadn’t even claimed the meat for themselves.
Pierre’s anger flared. What a waste. It was one thing to steal when starving. It was quite another to induce starvation in others. The food stores at the fort were extremely low, and word was in the village the situation was even more desperate. Thinking more of Claire and her mother than his own growling stomach, Pierre was first in line behind Captain Lewis when the officer gave the order to continue marching. Doggedly the party moved forward, but no further trace of the Sioux remained.
The sun was now high in the sky, reflecting blindingly on the prairie. One of the Mandan men claimed a painful condition of his eyes. Two others insisted the trail was cold and the cause hopeless. Although displeased by their complaints, even Running Wolf moved to abandon the search.
“The Sioux are far away. No meat. Better hunting north of the river.”
Captain Lewis was just as disgusted as anyone else by the lack of progress, and although bent on continuing, he agreed to send the native men back. Private Howard would travel with them. His feet were frosted and in need of medical attention.
“If you do not tarry, you should reach the fort by dusk,” Lewis said. As for the rest of the men, he ordered them to continue.
Pierre tugged at his cap and did his best to shield his eyes as he moved forward. He understood the captain’s tenacity. If what belonged to them was not recovered, it would only further emboldened the Sioux. What if they were to attack again? What if this time they came to the village? Would Running Wolf defend his niece, his sister?
God watch over them.
He reckoned they had marched about thirty miles when they came upon two abandoned tepees with Sioux markings. Daylight was fading fast and the winds were building. Conditions would not allow them to travel farther tonight. Besides that, the party was thoroughly exhausted.
Settling into the abandoned site, Captain Lewis ordered the men to sleep. Pierre volunteered to keep the first watch.
“Alert me at once if there is any movement,” Lewis said.
“Yes, sir.”
Taking his place, Pierre wondered if Running Wolf had yet returned to the village. Would he accept today’s disappointment quietly, or would he take his anger out on Claire and her mother? The thought kept Pierre’s muscles taut and his senses alert all through his watch.
* * *
Running Wolf returned to the lodge that evening with a frown. Claire knew at once that the efforts to recover the horses, weapons and meat had failed. But how so? Had the Sioux attacked, or had the men simply been unable to locate them?
And what of Pierre? She longed most of all to ask about him but did not dare.
Evening Sky lifted her head from her pallet. “How was your hunt, brother?” she ask
ed.
Running Wolf huffed as he sat down by the fire. Claire dutifully placed his tea at his side. There was no more corn. Her uncle crossed, then uncrossed his legs restlessly. “There is no meat,” he replied. “The White chief with the three-cornered hat still walks, but he will not find what he seeks. The enemy has fled.”
Claire drew in a breath. It was greatly discouraging that the food had not been recovered, but at least there had been no bloodshed. At least, not yet. How long would Captain Lewis and his men march before they admitted defeat and returned to the fort? The memory of Black Raven’s frozen feet skittered though her mind. Shivering, she whispered a silent prayer on Pierre and the other men’s behalf.
“I am sorry for you, brother,” Evening Sky said, “but I trust you will find meat soon.”
Claire moved to refill her uncle’s cup. He caught her arm before she could do so. His grip was so tight it threatened to bring tears to her eyes. “The spirits are angry with us,” he said. “That is why our enemies provoke us. That is why there are no buffalo.”
His hold and intimating glare told Claire exactly who Running Wolf thought was the target of their anger.
“If you would marry and give up these white men’s ways, things would be different.”
Claire lowered her eyes, not out of humility but in an effort to hold her tongue. If anyone had a right to be angry, it was her! How could her uncle treat her this way? He was her own flesh and blood! How could he seek to barter her off to strangers all those months ago? And now, with her mother sick, how could he still insist she wed?
“A strong warrior is what is needed to keep you on the path of our ancestors.”
He did not name a specific warrior, but it mattered very little. She was desperate just the same.
God help me. I know he acts in ignorance. I know that walking Your path of forgiveness is the only way to shine Your light...but Lord, it is so hard! Help me! Defend me!
“You say nothing to this?” Running Wolf said.
Claire had no words. No voice at all. With sudden great strength, however, Evening Sky raised herself to a sitting position. Her voice was clear, her eyes as bright as fire. “She tries to show you respect, brother! You do not wish for her to speak the name of Jesus, but I tell you once again that He is the true Great Spirit. He is more powerful than all the others. He will provide.”
Running Wolf practically tossed Claire aside as he rose to his feet. “He has not provided for you! You scorn the power of our medicine man. You place your life in the hands of a dead man.”
“He is not dead,” Evening Sky said. “He lives.”
Running Wolf turned his eyes again on Claire. She nodded in agreement with her mother, a quiet confidence infusing her. Whatever doubts she might have, whatever fears and emotions with which she struggled, Claire was certain of this. Deep in her bones she knew it to be true. Come life or her death, she knew it was true. Christ was alive.
Running Wolf turned for the door. “Foolish women! I will suffer no more of this talk!” Snatching his buffalo robe, he stormed out of the lodge.
Cries Like a Dove had watched the entire exchange in wide-eyed silence. When Running Wolf had gone, she asked, “Do you not fear displeasing him? Do you not fear what he may do? What if he calls his spirits against you? Do you truly believe your God is more powerful than Running Wolf’s spirits?”
“Yes,” Evening Sky and Claire both said at once.
“We do not wish to displease Running Wolf,” Claire said softly, “but as my mother said, our God is the true God. If angered, my uncle can only hurt my body,” or offer it to another, she thought. “He cannot touch my spirit. The true God holds power over both body and spirit.”
“And He does not wish to punish,” Evening Sky said. “He wishes to forgive all those who turn to Him. He offers love. He brings peace to the heart.” She paused. “Peace despite pain.”
Cries Like a Dove’s eyes began to water. “I should like peace of heart,” she said. “I should like to know forgiveness. My husband never says that I have failed him, but I know that I have. The old women tell me that is why I cannot give birth.” She wrapped her arms around her unborn child. “I fear I shall fail again.”
Claire slowly stepped forward, embraced the woman. She knew that fear of failure. Although not a mother, she knew what it was like to feel responsible for the lives before her. The weight of the burden at times was almost unbearable. No wonder she had wished to escape with Pierre that night. But if I rode off toward the sunset, I would not have the privilege of witnessing moments like this, she thought. God is indeed moving.
“The old women say that I have done wrong,” Cries Like a Dove said. “They say that I must seek the medicine man’s provision, but I have done so before, and he was no help.”
“We have all done wrong,” Evening Sky said, “but no medicine can help. Our wrong must be atoned, and there is only one who has the power to do so.”
“Your Jesus?”
“Yes,” Claire answered, feeling hope surging inside her as she could see Cries Like a Dove’s heart opening to the truth. “He loves us even in our weakness, even in our shame. Only He can lift us from such and fill the emptiness inside our hearts.”
He was doing it right now inside Claire. The fear she felt, the restlessness were melting away. Assurance filled her now. This was where she was meant to be. This was her family. No matter what happened in the future, no matter what her uncle tried to do to her, this was where she was supposed to be. Phillip Granger, for all of his scheming, had actually done her a favor. His actions had led her here.
Cries Like a Dove clung to her, her tears falling upon Claire’s shoulder. “Then I want your Jesus to do so for me. I want him to take my wrong and give me peace.”
“All you need to do is ask Him,” Claire said.
And so she did, and as Cries Like a Dove cried out to the Savior, Claire’s heart leaped with joy. Evening Sky smiled with equal gladness. This woman was the first of the tribe to come to the light. “Thank You, God,” Claire whispered. “Thank You. May there be more... May there be many, many more...”
* * *
Almost a week after his party had first set out, Pierre spied the palisade on the horizon. The primitive fort had never looked so good. His feet were sore and cold, but thankfully ten toes remained. His muscles ached, but the two sleighs full of meat that he and his compatriots pulled behind them were worth the strain.
They had never found the Sioux, but trekking still further south, they had located a second cache of meat that the enemy had not discovered. In it were two sleighs and a few small deer. With provisions enough to last them for a couple of days, the party set to hunting.
By the time they had finished, they had procured thirty-six deer and fourteen elk. In their full-bellied exuberance, the men had taken to guessing the weight of the collection all the way back to the fort. Sergeant Ordway estimated twenty-four hundred pounds. Pierre reasoned it was more like twenty-eight. Captain Lewis believed it to be three thousand.
Despite the loss to the Sioux and whatever the newly gathered meat’s true weight, God had indeed blessed them. There had been no battle, and there was food to spare. In the interest of maintaining friendship, the captain decided to share the bounty with the Mandan. Upon reaching the river, Lewis directed that a portion of the meat be taken to the village. Pierre was the first to volunteer for the task of delivery. He wanted to see Claire. Since there had been no quarrel between Running Wolf and him on the hunt, Lewis agreed.
A party of villagers, mostly Chief Black Cat and his family, was now coming toward them. “You found what was taken?” the chief asked.
Charbonneau explained this was not the meat that the Sioux had stolen. “It is a fresh kill,” he said, “and it is the white chief’s desire to share it with our friends.”
Black Cat smi
led his approval. “It is good you have come,” he said. “Our hunters have not yet returned. Our women and children are hungry.”
Pierre glanced around for two particular women. With the Mandans now clustering about them, they hauled the sleigh into the heart of the village.
Upon their arrival, the celebratory drums began to beat. Chants of thankfulness echoed. Among the throng, Pierre spied Claire. She was standing just outside her family lodge, a little thinner in the face than the last time he had seen her but still just as lovely.
Noticing him, she smiled. He hadn’t known exactly what her response toward him would be, given how they had last parted. In fact, he still wasn’t certain. Was she glad to see him or simply grateful for the meat he had brought?
He didn’t care. He was glad to see her, and that was enough. Only as he approached her did he think of his appearance. He had once again let his hair and beard grow. His buckskin clothing was ragged and unkempt. He was hardly presentable to meet a lady.
Even so, she offered him another smile. “I thank God that you are well,” she said.
“It is because of your prayers.”
She lowered her eyes, blushed, as if embarrassed by the fact that he knew she had been praying for him. Perhaps he presumed wrong, but he didn’t think so. He knew someone had been praying. He had felt the strength unleashed by the petitions.
“How is your mother?” he asked.
Her eyes returned to his. They were vibrant and penetrating, more so than he believed he had ever seen before. A new light seemed to shine in them. Pierre self-consciously rubbed his scraggly chin. “Her health is much the same,” she said, “but her heart is happy...as is mine. I have much to tell you.”
“Oh? Good news?”
“Indeed!”
Her face practically glowed as she told him then of Cries Like a Dove’s decision to follow Christ. Pierre rejoiced at the news, but a small part of him couldn’t help but wonder what the woman’s husband thought of her newfound faith. Three Horses was a likeable man, and Pierre had formed something of a friendship with him during his time at the fort. Still, Christianity was a divisive issue. He asked Claire.
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