by Karen Kay
There wasn’t a single head that wasn’t turned her way. Moreover, men of all sorts and sizes were rushing at her from every possible direction of the fort. Some were pulling on pants as they ran, others shirts and coats.
All shared one common trait. They gaped at her. Doubtfully, Marietta said to those who had assembled, “Is there anyone at this post who can help me? As I have already said, I became lost from my party, and these Indians found me and brought me here. But I search for a man…a trapper. I need to speak to someone.”
No one answered her. It was as if the shock of her presence had momentarily startled them out of speech.
At last, a short, balding man came rushing toward her. From his waistcoat and vest, to his brisk, no-nonsense manner, Marietta fathomed at once that this man was most likely a clerk.
He said, “The bourgeois, Mr. Laidlaw, has requested I bring you to him, miss. Follow me.”
“Yes, thank you, Mister…?”
“Smith,” supplied the man.
“Thank you, Mr. Smith.”
Mr. Smith spared a glance over his shoulder and smiled at Marietta. But espying the Indians, he ordered, “The Injuns cannot come with you, Miss… What did you say your last name was?”
“Welsford,” replied Marietta. “And it is Lady Welsford, sir. But there is a problem.”
“A problem?”
“Yes, you see, Mr. Smith, these Indians are with me. I would ask that they be allowed to accompany me everywhere I go. Mr. Coyote, here, saved my life.”
“Saved your life, did he?”
“That’s correct, sir, he did,” said Marietta. “Surely in light of that, you might understand my position on this matter. Besides, Yellow Swan is my maid, and I will require her attention.”
“Well…” the man hesitated, “…all right. Just this once I reckon we can forgo the rules. Follow me.”
Picking up her skirt, Marietta prepared to do exactly that. Ignoring the stares from all around her, she and her party paraded across the grounds to the house of Mr. Laidlaw, Fort Pierre’s bourgeois, a title that, in this land and at this time, was much like a king.
“What a lovely dinner this was, Mr. Laidlaw.” Marietta patted her lips with a white linen napkin. Sitting forward in the dining chair, she said, “It has been a long while since I have been treated to real butter and cream. I assume this comes to the table via the large herd of cows I saw when I first approached the fort.”
“That it does, lass,” said Laidlaw, a fair-headed Scotsman who seemed to favor long sideburns and whiskers. “That it does.”
Marietta nodded, and Laidlaw continued. “Now tell me, lass, what has happened to ye? How have ye come to be here in these western plains?”
Marietta placed both hands in her lap, pausing briefly. “I traveled here originally with members of royalty, led by Princess Sierra, heir to the throne of Baden-Baden. There was a fire aboard our steamship, the Diana, and I became parted from the princess.”
“Terrible things, those ships,” observed Laidlaw. “’Tis a wonder ye are here in one piece, lass, for ’tis a savage land, these western plains.”
“True,” agreed Marietta, “yet this land is also a country of beauty.”
Laidlaw frowned but appeared to have nothing of import to add to this last comment. “Come, ye are safe now. Whatever ordeal ye suffered is over.”
“Thank you, Mr. Laidlaw. I appreciate your kind words. However, I have need to ask you for information, if I might. I search for someone, a man.”
“Do ye, lass?”
“Yes, sir. He is rather beastly. Of large frame and ill temper, he is of haggard appearance, long, dark hair, beard and mustache. Have you knowledge of this man?”
“And why would ye be lookin’ for him?”
“It is…” Marietta hesitated. “It is personal, sir, but of one thing I can say. We suspect that this…beast has killed many people.”
“We?”
“Mr. Coyote, Yellow Swan and myself.”
“Ah,” said Laidlaw. “The Indians.”
“Yes, sir. The Indians.”
“Troubling company ye be keepin’, lass…”
Marietta placed her napkin beside her plate—an item that was made of the finest china. Trembling slightly, she thrust out her chin. “Forgive me, Mr. Laidlaw, if I seem impertinent. Though I understand your house rules, and though I respect your right to entertain whomever you choose in your own home, I do not agree with you on the subject of Indian character. I have found Mr. Coyote and Yellow Swan to be true friends. In fact, I would not be here now were it not for Mr. Coyote. And I am disheartened he must wait outside whilst you entertain me with breakfast.”
“A necessary precaution, lass. Very necessary here in a fort like this.”
“Perhaps so, and I do not mean to tell you your business,” she said. “But I am disappointed.”
Laidlaw responded with no more than a severe look in her direction, and Marietta decided it might be best to change the topic of conversation. “Perhaps we should discuss the matter at hand, sir. Have you knowledge of the man I seek?”
Laidlaw drew his brows together in a frown. “I must ask ye again, lass. Why do ye search for him?”
Marietta set her glance to Laidlaw’s, staring straight into his hazel eyes. Could she trust this Scotsman? Perhaps. But dare she chance it? She asked, playing for time, “Do you want the truth, or a lesser version of what has happened?”
“I’ll take the truth, if ye please.”
“Very well,” said Marietta, biting down on her lip. “I have…lost a family heirloom, sir, and I have reason to believe this man either has it or has knowledge of where I might find it.”
“And what is this heirloom, lass?”
“A…a…” Marietta, who rarely had cause to tell great fibs, glanced quickly around the table, her gaze alighting on a diamond-and-gold napkin holder. “A brooch, sir.”
“A mere brooch?” Laidlaw frowned.
“It is an uncommon one, Mr. Laidlaw. It is…” she hesitated, “…made of gold and…diamonds.” She smiled.
“It must be an uncommon one, for certain,” said Laidlaw, “if it brings ye here in search of it.”
Marietta gulped and glanced down at her lap. “It is all I have left of my family, sir.” Amazed at her audacious behavior, she drew a deep breath. “This man either has my brooch or knows where it is. And so you see, I have great need to find him.”
“I understand. Then ye dunna seek him to take his life?”
“No, sir, I don’t. Although I am not certain he doesn’t deserve to die. We believe he killed the bourgeois and company at the LaPrenier and Acme Trading Post.”
“LaPrenier and Acme are dead?”
“Yes, sir.” Reaching down beside her chair, Marietta took one of the parfleche bags which she carried, and pulling it up, extracted from it the LaPrenier and Acme Post’s journal. Opening it to the last entry, she handed it to Laidlaw. “This was Mr. LaPrenier’s last words. As you can see, I believe this beast killed him.”
Several minutes passed as Laidlaw examined the book. “So it would seem…so it would seem. But come, lass.” Laidlaw gazed up at Marietta. “This be something for the likes of me to handle, not a young woman.”
Marietta smiled. “Yes, sir. However, I still seek the man. After all, it is my family heirloom that is in his possession, I believe, and I would have it back.”
Laidlaw nodded. “I hear ye, lass. I hear ye. But how did ye lose such a fine possession?”
“I…” Marietta thought fast, “…had it in my possession at one of the Indian villages. I went to sleep with it within my grasp, but when I awoke, it was gone. Others say this man was seen leaving, and in his possession was my brooch.”
Laidlaw nodded. “Fair enough. But, lass, I think now I’ll be needin’ to know how ye came to be in such bad company that ye be sleeping in Indian villages.”
“Bad company?”
“Aye, lass. How is it ye came to be travelin’ with the
Indian and his squaw?”
His squaw? Oh, yes, Laidlaw was referring to Yellow Swan, of course.
But Laidlaw was continuing, “…and what have these two to do with yer adventure?”
Marietta cleared her throat. “As I mentioned earlier, they found me when I was separated from my mistress.”
“And what have these two to do with your brooch?”
Marietta swallowed. “Why nothing, sir. They merely escorted me here.”
“Nothing, ye say? And yet I know that an Injun never does anything ’lessen there’s somethin’ in it for himself. What is it ye’ve offered that young fellow? And don’t tell me nothing, for I know them well.”
Marietta gulped, at a loss for words. Had she been found out in her lie so soon? “I don’t know what to tell you, sir. I have not much to offer him.”
“Then the Injun wouldna have followed ye here. Come now, lass.”
She sighed dramatically. “Very well,” she said, as though resigned, “you have found me out. And I suppose I must tell you the truth. In return for his escort to St. Louis, I have promised him my favor, sir, though I do not intend to keep that promise.”
Laidlaw paused, then laughed heartily. “Ah, lass, ye are a smart one. Now that I understand. And think nothin’ of it. Ye did what ye had to do. We all must lie sometime.”
Yes, we must, thought Marietta, who was keeping her gaze carefully trained on the floor.
“Now,” said Laidlaw, “let us talk about more pleasant matters.”
Marietta smiled faintly.
“While ye are at Fort Pierre,” continued Laidlaw, “I insist ye stay here in this house. It will give ye more comfort. I’ll send for—”
“But about this man whom I seek, sir?” Marietta interrupted. “Have you knowledge of this man, the beast?”
“The truth is, lass, I do. But I dunna want ye worryin’ about him. I will send out one of my own men to find him and bring him in. Will that set your mind at ease, now?”
“It most certainly would, sir.”
“That’s fine then, lass. That’s fine. Now, I will have one of my Indian maids make up a room for you.”
“Thank you very much, sir. That is kind of you.”
Laidlaw bunched up his own linen napkin and threw it on his plate. “Now, if ye will excuse me, lass, I have work to do.”
“Yes, Mr. Laidlaw. But I have one more question, sir.”
“Aye? And what be that?”
“It concerns the Indian, sir. I am thankful you are giving myself and my maid lodging. But what about Mr. Coyote? Though he be troublesome, and though I have confessed my duplicity in his regard, the man has, on several occasions, saved my life. Have you nowhere to house him?”
Laidlaw frowned and raised an eyebrow, giving her a considering look. “I dare say the Indian can take care of himself, lass. He can stay with the other Indians gathered round the fort.”
“But that’s where you are wrong, sir,” said Marietta. “He cannot remain with those people.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“He cannot be sent to those Indians, sir. I realize he looks Lakota, but he is, in reality, an Assiniboine Indian, and as you know, those tribes are at war.”
Laidlaw raised both eyebrows. “Lass, is there more to the story than ye be tellin’ me?”
Marietta glanced down at the floor. “I owe him my life. Therefore, I would be much beholden if you could arrange quarters for him, here within the fort. It is the least I can do for him because it might save his life.”
Laidlaw frowned at her. “Ye seem a right too concerned about this man. Are ye tellin’ me the truth?”
Marietta felt the blood rush to her face. “The truth?”
“Ye dunna intend to keep your promise to that Indian, do ye, lass?”
“No, sir, I don’t, but…” she hesitated, “…when someone does a person a favor, it is customary to return it. He may be Indian, but I owe him much. Perhaps not what I have promised, as you say. But much.”
Laidlaw nodded. “It is a fine quality ye possess, lass, to worry about another. Dunna fret. It will be done. I will give him quarter.”
And Marietta, catching the bourgeois’s glance, smiled.
Chapter Seventeen
An accordion and a banjo accompanied the dancers. The traders, dressed in their very best, were lined up, one after the other, each awaiting a chance to claim a dance with the newest person to their post, Marietta. In a corner of the same room, several other men were engaged in a game of cards, while another few were engrossed over a chess match. On the dance floor were several dancers, company contracted men and their Indian wives.
Marietta, in the arms of one of the traders, was stepping around the dance floor as though she had been born to it. It was evening now, but earlier in the day Marietta had extracted some gold from her purse and bought a ream of green satin from the trader’s store, as well as some cotton fabric. These had gone to make a new dress, chemise, petticoats and drawers. Plus, she had purchased a brand-new corset. In truth, she was astonished at the riches contained at this post, and it had been a pleasure to shop at the storehouse. She and Yellow Swan had spent the day making the dress Marietta wore this very evening.
Grey Coyote was not in attendance, since the dance was being held in the house of the bourgeois, who dictated a firm rule that no Indian man could ever be admitted. Since arriving at Fort Pierre two days ago, Marietta had neither seen nor heard from Grey Coyote.
Mr. Laidlaw had informed her that Grey Coyote had been given a bed with his contracted employees, but Marietta had not been able to confirm this as true.
At best, she suspected that Grey Coyote wasn’t here, that being a scout, he had found a way to leave the fort as easily as he entered it. Perhaps he had gone on to find the trail of the man he sought, leaving Marietta safe behind the walls of the fort.
But this thought caused her to brood. Did she want to be safe behind these walls? If she were to be truthful to herself, she would have to admit to longing to be out there on the prairie with Grey Coyote, instead of stuck in here being treated like a much-cherished pet.
Besides, wasn’t she a part of his vision? Didn’t she have a right to accompany Grey Coyote? Indeed, it was fast becoming her consideration that Grey Coyote was being insensitive…if only by excluding her. The more she turned over the thought in her mind, the stronger the feeling became.
At last, the music ended. As the musicians debated what their next song might be, Marietta took advantage of the break to disengage herself from the gentleman with whom she had been dancing. She smiled up at the man. “I thank you for the dance, sir.”
The man was not a particularly handsome fellow, but he seemed kindly enough when he asked, “May I get you anything, Miss Welsford?”
“Yes, if you please. A glass of water would be most welcome.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll get it at once.”
“Thank you,” uttered Marietta softly, and the gentleman departed. Briefly, Marietta waved a handkerchief in front of her face, trying without much success to dispel the cologne the man was wearing. It was odd that the men at this post wore so many scents.
Perhaps it was to cover their body odor, which unfortunately seemed an almost impossible task. Though she knew daily bathing was not part of the American way of life, she couldn’t help comparing these men unfavorably with Grey Coyote, who seemed to relish his early-morning bath.
“May I have this next dance, Miss Welsford?”
Marietta smiled up at the next trader. “Yes, that would be nice, though someone is bringing me a glass of water. Could we wait until I’ve had some refreshment?”
“Of course,” said the man gently. “Should I go and find him? Perhaps hurry him?”
“Yes. That would be most welcome.”
With a stiff bow, the man departed, leaving Marietta alone for the first time all evening. She truly did wish for that glass of water, however. Since she hadn’t sat down all evening, she had wo
rked up a bit of perspiration.
“Here we are, Miss Welsford,” said the gentleman, at last returning with her drink.
Marietta spun around and took the glass in hand. “I thank you kindly, sir.”
“My pleasure, Miss Welsford. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Gazing wistfully out the open window, Marietta muttered, “I would love to take a walk out in the night breeze. I am afraid I have been dancing for the past hour, and some fresh air might do me good.”
“Very well. I can accompany you, miss.”
“Yes.” Marietta offered the gentleman her gloved hand. “I would like that, Mister…?”
“Adams, miss. Allen Adams.”
She nodded, and ignoring the pointed looks from the others, Marietta left the house on the arm of Mr. Adams.
Once outside, she inhaled deeply, and gazing up at the sky, immediately located the Big Dipper, which of course led her glance toward the North Star. Briefly, she recalled Grey Coyote’s instructions about direction, and she smiled.
Odd, how she missed the out-of-doors. Though the bourgeois’s house was nice, she felt strangely stifled. But here, outside, she seemed to feel…at home.
The man at her side broke the silence. “It is a beautiful night, isn’t it?”
“That it is. Listen.” She frowned and lowered her voice. “Something is wrong, Mr. Adams. Do you hear that?”
“What, miss?”
“The quiet.”
“I don’t understand, miss. Hear the quiet?”
“Yes,” she said, continuing. “These past few nights have been filled with noise—the Indian drumming and singing from the camps. It’s gone on all night. But not tonight. Listen. There’s not a wolf howling, nor even a nighthawk squawking. It’s quiet. Too quiet.” She turned to the man. “Do you know the cause?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t.”
“But you should, Mr. Adams,” she observed. “One of the details I learned from the Indians is that the night should be filled with sound. If it isn’t, there is a reason, and it should be discovered, lest there is danger about.” She glanced around the deserted courtyard. “Sir, could I beg a favor of you?”
