“Oh, that is the best part. Her husband said if Christ could dry her tears then he would not object to her worshipping him. He even gave his wife a new name.”
“What does he call her now?”
“One Who Smiles.”
Hearing that, Pierre smiled himself. He couldn’t help but think then of Claire’s own Mandan name, Bright Star. She was indeed just that, a light that shone in the darkness. “That is wonderful news,” he said.
At the tree of the Lone Man, Chief Black Cat raised his hands, preparing to speak. His villagers drew near to pay the hunters honor. Just before they did so, a cry came from the main entrance. Startled, Pierre turned quickly in the direction of the sound, alert for danger. It was not, however, a cry of war or distress but apparently celebration. The Mandan hunters had returned. Their people rejoiced at their entrance.
Running Wolf, his face painted, his jaw set proudly, was leading the party. Behind him were four other braves, including Golden Hawk. Each hunter carried a deer on his shoulders.
“They bring food, as well,” Claire said.
“Indeed.”
But when the animals were laid beside the sleigh load of meat, it was obvious which hunting party had been most successful—particularly since the hunters from the fort had brought only a portion of all that they had captured. Chief Black Cat nevertheless proclaimed welcome to his men and bestowed the same honor as he had upon the whites. It was obvious to Pierre and anyone else with eyes that Running Wolf did not wish to share such honor. The warrior’s disapproving glare burned through Pierre as Running Wolf located him among the crowd.
Instinctively Pierre stepped in front of Claire, blocking her uncle’s view of her. He did not wish trouble with the man, but Pierre would make it clear that he would not tolerate even so much as a shadow of discomfort directed toward Claire or her mother.
Claire, stubborn as usual, would not be shielded. When Black Cat gave the command, she stepped forward with the other women and began to carve the meat, leaving Pierre and Running Wolf to glare at one another.
* * *
Claire walked a fine line between excitement and caution when Pierre arrived in her village. He was safe. He had been successful. She was glad to see him, and she wanted to share with him all of the news of what had happened in his absence. Yet she knew she must separate from him, if not for her sake, then for his. Running Wolf was clearly jealous of him.
When the women were called to skin the meat, she moved to the deer her uncle had brought. One Who Smiles, formerly Cries Like a Dove, moved up beside her.
“Your uncle’s eyes are upon you,” she warned.
“I know.”
As One Who Smiles reached for her knife, she staggered just a little. Claire immediately steadied her. “You are weak, sister. Allow me.”
Unbeknownst to Claire, Chief Black Cat was circling the group. Noting the pregnant woman’s difficulty, he paused. Although it was customary for all of the meat to be dressed and distributed first to the hunters before any other person ate, Chief Black Cat made an exception.
“Give a small portion to her now,” he said to Claire, speaking of One Who Smiles. “Let her rest inside her lodge.”
Highly surprised but extremely grateful, Claire nodded to her chief.
“You are most generous, great chief,” One Who Smiles said. “Might I prepare this in the lodge of Evening Sky?”
Claire smiled at her friend’s thoughtfulness. Her mother needed nourishment as well.
The old chief nodded his approval. Claire moved to slice the meat, but Black Cat stopped her. “Take from the white man’s portion,” he said. “It is better quality.”
Claire nodded obediently, then moved toward the sleigh that Pierre and the others had brought. She was thankful for Black Cat’s kindness yet was left uneasy by it at the same time. She could feel Running Wolf’s eyes upon her. She dared not look toward Pierre.
In an unprecedented move, the chief then suddenly announced, “Cut the meat for the sick and old first.”
The village went silent in shock. On the plains, where the old were often told, “You have lived long enough, and it is now time for you to die,” twice in a matter of minutes her chief had shown deference to the weakest members of the tribe. Were the teachings of Jesus penetrating even further than Claire had realized? Was this the true reason for Running Wolf’s frown?
Pierre moved up beside her. “Let us unload the sleigh for you,” he said. “Suggest to your chief that representatives for those most in need wait in queues while the meat is prepared.”
It was a wonderful idea, and Claire turned at once to Black Cat. “If it is the chief’s pleasure...” she said before explaining Pierre’s idea.
Black Cat nodded approval. With his permission, Pierre then organized the people into lines. There was disbelief but relief at the same time for those who suffered.
Claire relished the concern Pierre showed for her people. She admired his willingness to take leadership and the gentle way he did it—so different from the autocratic ways practiced by most of the men in her tribe. Claire watched as he escorted a particularly feeble grandmother to the head of one of the queues. She in turn offered him a toothless grin.
Claire’s heart swelled so much that she thought it would burst. Pierre Lafayette was a man of strength and gentleness, of ferocity and faith. This was the kind of man with whom she wanted to live out her days. This was the husband whose name she wished to carry.
Admitting to herself what her heart had already known for some time, Claire felt a bubble of laughter rise inside her, one, however, that quickly burst. Without a doubt she had fallen in love, but she had fallen in love with a man who would not, could not be her husband. Spring was just a few weeks away. Even if the expedition was not continuing westward, even if Pierre did have some interest in her that went beyond Christian concern, it would still be impossible.
She cast a glance toward her uncle. Running Wolf had taken post beneath the Lone Man’s tree, his arms crossed upon his massive chest. He and his hunters had been deprived of the honor of eating first not only by the white man but also by their chief. Claire saw the piercing look her uncle gave Pierre. If looks could kill, Pierre would have been lying in the trampled snow.
Black Cat’s kindness could easily vanish if another confrontation flares between Pierre and my uncle, she thought. And if the American captains become angered... She shoved away the thought.
“You should go,” she said to Pierre.
“But there is still more meat to—”
She touched his sleeve. The action stilled him. “My uncle is angry with your handling of the meat. He thinks what we have done today is an insult to the spirits.”
“You mean an insult to himself.”
“Pierre, please...” She heard the tone of her own voice. It revealed more concern for him than she wished to admit.
“If you are worried for my safety, I assure you I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can.” She didn’t say anything else. She feared if she did, he would come to understand what she truly felt. Even now it seemed as though those dark charcoal eyes were burning a hole through her soul, exposing everything she had ever thought about him. He cast a glance then in her uncle’s direction.
“I know you told me you did not want my protection, but that won’t keep me from rendering it when it is warranted.”
Her heart swelled once more. She wanted him to stay with her always but dared not say it. “I do not despise your offer of such,” she said. “I only think of the consequences of the last time you faced my uncle when his ire was raised.”
She could tell by the change in his expression, the uncertainty in his eyes, that he followed her thoughts.
He opened his mouth to say something else, but an approaching soldier kept him from
doing so. Despite the ragged clothing and unkempt hair, Claire recognized him. It was Private Cruzette, the fiddle player.
He nodded to her, then said to Pierre, “The captain is looking for you. He wants a report on conditions here in the village.”
Pierre hesitated. To an officer it would have been infuriating. To her it was endearing. He was torn between his duty to his captain and his promise to her.
But she refused to be the cause of trouble to him. “Go,” she encouraged him. “All will be well here. Black Cat has shown me great favor today.” She didn’t give him a chance to respond but instead quickly turned back to carve the remaining meat.
Chapter Twelve
Pierre hadn’t liked leaving the village, but he did so reluctantly. Given what had happened the last time he had tarried, coupled with his previous hesitancy to obey Captain Lewis, he thought it prudent to do so. Claire had insisted all would be well, but just in case, he asked Charbonneau to keep an eye on her.
The Frenchman returned to the fort just before dark. “All is quiet,” he announced. “Full bellies produce sound sleep.”
“Did you see her uncle?” Pierre asked.
“Yes. I saw him sitting at the chief’s special fire before I left. Evidently Black Cat had smoothed over his ruffled feathers by inviting him and his hunters to dine with him.”
Charbonneau told him not to worry, but of course that was easier said than done. Pierre tossed and turned in his bunk for hours. The bugle sounded all too soon. He slid from his bedding only to greet another cold morning. A skin of ice coated the water in the wash basin, causing most of his fellow adventurers to forgo that morning ritual. Grumbling and yawning, they each layered up their clothing, tugged on their hats and gloves. Grabbing their muskets, they headed for the parade ground.
Captain Clark was already afield. Pierre and the others assembled in front of him, but before the officer could issue the daily assignments, a call came from the catwalk. Private George Shannon, the sentinel on duty, announced that an Indian rider was approaching.
“He’s comin’ in awfully fast, sir. Looks to be some sort of trouble.”
At that, Pierre’s muscles tightened and every man, including Captain Clark, stood a little straighter. Were the Sioux once again on the prowl?
“Is it a single rider?” Clark asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you yet tell who it appears to be?”
“Appears to be the boy who stayed here. The one who lost his toes.”
Pierre blinked. Why was Black Raven coming to the fort? Then he remembered the story Claire had shared about the boy’s mother having decided to follow Christ. His pulse quickened. Has there been some sort of trouble because of that decision? Was Claire in danger?
Captain Clark gave the order to open the gate for the boy. With Charbonneau already dispatched on other business, Clark called Pierre forward to assist with translation. Pierre did the best he could, but the boy was talking so fast that even if he’d had a better grasp of the Mandan language, the task would have been difficult. He heard Captain Lewis’s name mentioned. Then he thought he heard the word for baby.
“Has your mother’s time come?” he asked. “Is she in distress?”
The boy made signs to indicate the child was on its way but something was wrong. “Medicine,” he said.
Pierre looked at Captain Clark. The officer nodded. “Fetch Captain Lewis.”
Pierre hurried to do so. He was relieved to know Claire was not in danger, but it distressed him greatly that her friend was.
Having heard the commotion on the parade ground, Captain Lewis stepped from his hut. “What is amiss?” he asked.
Pierre quickly explained. Fetching his doctoring kit, Captain Lewis ran for the gate. One of the soldiers had already saddled his horse, and apparently under Captain Clark’s direction, a mount had been prepared for Pierre, as well.
“Sir, I’m not certain how much help I can be,” he said. “I speak very little Mandan.”
“But you speak French,” Clark said. “And so does Miss Manette.”
So he and Captain Lewis, along with Black Raven, galloped toward the river. Navigating the ice carefully, they burst again into speed once they had climbed the far bank. The snow impeded their pace somewhat, but they still managed to make it to the village in record time.
Women there were going about their daily chores, while the men were visiting in their usual spot beneath the great tree. Though a few cast a glance at the white men, no one seemed all that alarmed. Pierre noted Running Wolf was suspiciously absent from the group, but having no time to ponder the potential reasons, he continued on with the captain.
Reaching the lodge, Pierre and Lewis left the horses in the care of Black Raven, then stepped inside. It took a moment for Pierre’s eyes to adjust to the semidarkness. When they did, he was surprised by the emptiness of the lodge. Upon entering he had expected to find a gaggle of women, busy tending to or at least whispering about the pregnant mother. Instead only Claire was at One Who Smiles’s pallet. Standing over them both was Three Horses, the worried-looking husband.
I didn’t know she was a midwife, Pierre thought. Was there nothing this woman could not do?
Claire looked as though she’d never been more relieved to see them. She came to them at once, explaining the circumstances, alternating her attention between Pierre and Captain Lewis.
“The pains began last night,” she said, “just after you left the village. The midwives all gathered. One Who Smiles sent for me. She wanted me to come and pray for her. She did not wish for the women to recite incantations over her.”
“Where are they now?” Lewis asked.
Pierre wondered the same. “Did the women get angry about the prayer? Did they leave?”
“Not at first, but when it became clear that the baby wasn’t progressing, the midwives blamed One Who Smiles. They said she had angered the spirits by refusing their assistance, and they would not stay.”
So they abandoned her? Pierre looked at the woman on the pallet. She was in obvious travail.
“How long has she been like this?” Lewis asked.
“Hours. Captain, I am not skilled in bringing forth children. I begged Three Horses to send for you, but at first he refused, saying he did not wish to anger the spirits.”
So he believed the women, Pierre thought. God, help his wife...help the child...
“I wanted to come to the fort myself, but One Who Smiles forbade me to leave her side. She insisted God would be with her, and she wanted me beside her to help her pray. I reminded Three Horses of Black Raven’s trouble with his feet, of how God had helped him recover.”
Pierre noted to whom she gave credit—not the American captains but to the Great Physician.
“Three Horses now asks for your help.”
The warrior nodded to the men, then pointed to his ailing wife. Captain Lewis went to her at once. The woman said something to him, but neither Pierre nor the captain could understand.
“She asks for rattlesnake powder,” Claire said. “She asked me for it earlier, but I was afraid to give it to her. She says you gave it to Sacagawea and then her child came.”
He felt her abdomen, then shook his head. “You did right in not administering the powder. It would only have heightened the danger. The child has not yet turned.”
Pierre was hardly an expert in such areas, but even he knew the woman’s condition was grave. “Have you a remedy?” he asked.
Lewis looked doubtful. “I can try.”
“What would you have us do?” Claire asked.
Us, Pierre noted. Oil and water aside, they were a committed team.
“Fetch clean cloths and some sinew,” Lewis ordered.
By now Black Raven was standing in the entryway, his dark eyes wide with fear
ful curiosity. Spying him, Claire asked him to gather the necessary items. He did so at once, while his nervous father looked on.
Pierre laid his hand upon the man’s shoulder. They were of different blood and culture, but they could each understand what they would suffer if they lost someone for whom they cared.
If that were Claire lying there...
Language could not convey the communication, but the look the man gave him told Pierre he appreciated the gesture of friendship.
“I’ll need you to keep her still,” Lewis said to Claire, and then he looked at Pierre. “Perhaps it would be best if you took the boy and his father outside.”
“Of course.” Pierre looked again to Three Horses, motioned to the door. Claire translated his request, adding a smile of reassurance at the end. It was a token of comfort Pierre was certain even she herself did not feel. Not only was a woman’s life and that of her child in the balance but also the potential faith of a husband and son.
Three Horses might have given pause over the old wives’ claims that the spirits had been angered, but the fact remained that he’d entrusted his wife’s care to the judgment of her friend who worshipped the white man’s God.
Pierre didn’t know who needed prayer more in this moment—the woman in labor, the child, Three Horses, Claire or the captain. Or perhaps us all...the entire expedition...for what will happen if the woman dies? Will the spirit-worshiping midwives blame Claire and Captain Lewis? Would they convince Black Cat and the others to revoke the friendship they had thus far given?
Running Wolf is already inclined against us. If hostilities ensued, what would be the outcome? The river was still covered in ice. There could be no easy retreat.
“We are sixteen hundred miles up the Missouri. No one will come to our aid...”
Pushing aside the disconcerting thoughts, Pierre chose instead to lift a silent prayer while he followed Three Horses and his son outside. Life in the village continued around them as it had previously, although now he heard the district sound of drums. Three Horses immediately frowned and said something that Pierre did not understand.
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