by Sadie Conall
They were happy days, even as temperatures plummeted and people moved indoors to keep warm and take shelter from winter storms. But one night in late November, as a blizzard came roaring down the mountains bringing with it freezing temperatures and high winds, Te’tukhe came calling for Madeleine. Wannge’e had gone into labour.
Seven
Despite everything we did for her, Wannge’e’s labour continued well into the following day. Paddake’e, Deinde'-paggwe and I took turns giving her herbs, rubbing her back, comforting her in any way we could while Te’tukhe stayed with Ryder in our teepee. Her family also came to help, relieving me and Paddake’e and Deinde'-paggwe, bringing more herbs that might help.
Some fifteen hours after Te’tukhe first came to get me, I pulled on my fur coat and went up into the woods in the hope of finding some more crampbark, for we had used all we had. And although we had stores of papoose root and sage along with raspberry leaves, for we had been collecting these herbs for weeks in preparation for the birth, I hoped for more crampbark.
It had been snowing heavily for two days, the village buffeted by high winds the night before and as I hurried up the bank towards the woods I saw groups of men about camp checking teepees and making sure everyone’s stakes and rawhide ropes were well secured.
But my thoughts were only of Wannge’e. She was having a bad time of it and I felt helpless and inadequate in easing her labour. Te’tukhe felt the same, but he was more of a hindrance than a help, as he paced outside the smaller teepee, distressed at hearing Wannge’e’s cries of pain. I had suggested to Ryder that he take his brother away for a few hours but Te’tukhe hadn’t wanted to leave.
Feeling restless and full of energy I began to run, pushing against the snow, grateful to be out in the fresh air and away from Wannge’e’s anguished moans. When I was about three miles from the village, I became aware that I was being followed. It was nothing more than a movement, an energy behind me, but as I crouched behind a stand of fir, I caught their scent. A pack of wolves, running hard, coming straight towards me.
Wolves were winter’s most dangerous predator and knowing this, panicking, I turned and ran, low and fast, desperately seeking some high ground. I found it in a towering bank of rocks, which left a wall of stone at my back. I climbed quickly, grabbing hold of any leverage offered me, desperate to gain height and get clear of the forest floor.
When I found a wide ledge some twenty-feet up, I swung around and moved into a crouch, taking my bow and several arrows from the sheath on my back and placing them at my feet. I also took the knife from the sheath on my right boot, wishing I had brought my musket. But this was unusual for wolves to come this close to the village. They were secretive creatures, wary of humans, preferring the quiet and safety of high ground. And they wouldn’t be hunting for food here, not with our own hunters in these woods.
I wasn’t expecting to see esa. When he came to me before, he had been alone. I didn’t expect him to have a pack of his own. But I was proved wrong. For as I crouched there, my breath shallow with fear, I saw a great white wolf come out of the trees followed by some thirty other wolves, most of them quite young, some owning a pelt of pure white. My esa, a massive beast, those scars clearly visible on his pelt and his back leg and his ear, yet now I understood they had been fought to gain this pack.
They came to stand just below the boulders on which I crouched and esa stood there, looking up at me, almost daring me to come down. And this was real, this wasn’t something supernatural involving the ancient one, for I could smell his scent, I could hear him breathe, I could see the recognition of me in those stunning yellow eyes.
But then the most extraordinary thing. He glanced back at his pack, before turning once more to hold my gaze. And I realized he had brought his pack here not to intimidate, but to acknowledge. A clear message. I was not to be hunted. I was to be protected.
And then strangely, I saw two creatures.
The first was the small ball of fluff I had found lying under ferns on the forest floor more than ten years ago, a creature that became one of the most important beings in my life. And I saw clearly that esa and I had always been one and the same, for I shared his instincts, given to me by the ancient one. And as I held esa’s gaze, I knew in that moment that the ancient one had sent him to me all those years ago.
The second creature was the ancient one. He had come to me in esa’s form when I so desperately needed help during my fights to the death with Thorne and Jarryth and Lisbeth Ashbury. Without him I would have perished, for their evil had been too powerful for me to fight alone.
And as I looked down at esa, in love with him even now, after all these years apart, he suddenly raised his head and howled, a long lingering cry that echoed through the woods. I hoped with all my heart he hadn’t come to say goodbye, because he turned and trotted back into the trees, his pack following behind him and within minutes they were gone.
*
Wannge’e’s babe was born later that night and as the snow began to fall on that cold November evening, as I sat in attendance with her along with Paddake’e and Deinde'-paggwe, in the end after all those long hours of labouring, the babe came quickly.
Wannge’e had given birth crouched on all fours, not long after drinking another potion of crampbark which I had found in the woods after esa and his pack left me. And as the bitterly cold night fell towards midnight, Te’tukhe’s son was born at last. A healthy babe of some six pounds. Paddake’e was the first to hold the child as he left the girl’s body, then she passed the precious bundle to me to wrap in a soft woollen blanket, one of the ones I had purchased in New Orléans and which Wannge’e had helped carry all the way from St Louis. Then I passed the child to his young mother.
I had always thought Poongatse would be the more natural mother out of the two girls, for Poongatse had always been the first to step up and take care of Harry’s needs before her own during those months we travelled alone. But I also knew that although Wannge’e was the quieter of the two girls, beneath that calm exterior she was a fighter, a young woman who owned a core of strength, capable of picking up a musket and shooting to kill. Indeed, like Deinde'-paggwe, she had saved my life.
But when I saw her with her new-born son, I knew this girl would do the right thing by him. She would protect him and love him and keep him safe until the end of her days. Not least because he was Te’tukhe’s child. And later, when she lay clean and settled in her furs, Te’tukhe came into the teepee to sit with her and the babe. And I saw something in his face that I had never seen before.
It was as if Wannge’e had already begun to chip away at this man’s hardened shell, as I had done with Ryder. But now, as Te’tukhe’s coal black eyes watched his new-born like a hawk, I saw a crack in that hard shell appear like a seismic shift, as if two Teutonic plates had moved apart to reveal a vulnerable softness. I was startled by it and had to turn away. When I told Ryder about it later, he had shrugged.
“Perhaps with Wannge’e and the child he’s found a home, something he’s been looking for his whole life,” he said, looking up at me. He lay on his furs before the fire, wearing just a loincloth for it was warm inside, even as the wind battered the hide walls outside. We were alone, for Harry was staying with Poongatse until the babe came. “And perhaps he’s more like me than he knows, for I didn’t know what I was searching for until I met you. But there you are. That’s the truth of it.”
I bent down and kissed his lips, warm against my own and as I reached out to rest my hand upon his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath my fingers, he pulled me close. “Indeed, had I not met you or Te’tukhe not met Wannge’e, we might have ended up two bitter old men, ruthless and hard.”
I laughed and curled around him. “Oh, don’t fool yourself halfbreed. You’re both still ruthless and hard to those you don’t particularly care for. But to those you love, there’s nothing remotely cold about either of you,” I whispered, moving my legs around his own.
Ryder laughed
as I moved again to lie on top of him, feeling the hard-muscled strength of him beneath me.
“Haa,” he said. “Like right now I’m feeling ruthless and hard,” he said, lifting me effortlessly so that our faces were close. He raised himself a little to kiss me and I felt the heat of him beneath my belly. And as I met his kiss, moving my hand down to push aside the loincloth, he moaned softly in his throat and in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to take his seed within me, to fall with his child. And later as I fell asleep in his arms, I moved to touch my belly, praying that tonight a child had begun between us.
Eight
As December rolled into January, Madeleine rarely left the village or the warmth of her fire except to go into the woods in search of firewood for herself and Wannge’e and to check her snares. Harry and Kimana sometimes went with her, along with Poongatse and Deinde'-paggwe but mostly she went alone in the hope of seeing esa.
Ryder had told her of his meeting esa, but she rarely ventured up into the northwest ridge, although she often heard wolves howling from there at night. And despite searching for him in the woods behind the village, she never saw him during those bitterly cold winter months.
The temperatures dropped well below freezing, causing thick chunks of ice to form on the surface of the Snake River, icicles to hang from the branches of trees and deep snow to blanket the sweeping foothills of evergreens reaching to the horizon and beyond, a world of white and grey. Horses huddled together in the corral for warmth, with men checking on them throughout the day.
Madeleine and Ryder sometimes talked of their lives in England and their friends and families, often late at night when they could talk in the privacy of their teepee, when Harry was asleep. They wondered how Charlotte and Rupert and their five children were getting on. How Ash was coping in his semi-retirement without Lisbeth. If Stretton Court was still running successfully as a charity and if Thomasina and Valentina Soames were still raising money for it.
Madeleine often thought about Monique and Josette. Monique would be sixteen now, Josette thirteen. She hoped both girls were well settled and keeping up with their lessons, yet often wondered, as she did with Harry, how they would readjust to life back in England when they all returned in 1809.
But thinking on Monique and Josette made her think about lessons for Harry. Perhaps she would start teaching him soon, for he must know how to read and write before he returned to England. And best to start now, while he was confined to the teepee over winter.
*
Wannge’e took to motherhood with a joy, but on the days she stumbled, there were plenty of women to pick her up and carry the load. When Te’tukhe rode out to hunt with Ryder and Ese-ggwe’na’a, sometimes the women gathered in Wannge’e’s teepee, taking her hot food along with kindling and wood for her fire, filling her waterskins with fresh water and letting her sleep for a few hours while they took care of the babe.
But the men also spent time together. If not out hunting, Ryder and Ese-ggwe’na’a and Te’tukhe would sit around their fires and smoke their pipes, sometimes in the company of Dosa’buih and Atsa-wannge’e if he was home. And Wannge’e’s father often joined them, eager to hear of the men’s travels.
Ryder spoke of St Louis and the Wazhazhe and living with the Comanche. Te’tukhe spoke of the Omaha, Mandan and Hŭŋkpapĥa and his years trapping in the wild with Allard Lemoine and his sons.
Poongatse and Wannge’e sometimes spoke of their journey to St Louis with the Mandan to trade, along with their lives on the Corrigan ranch. They spoke of clothes unheard of, worn by both women and men. The told of seeing soldiers carrying great knives in sheaths on their hips called swords and the uniforms with bright buckles and gold buttons. They spoke of hard leather boots worn by men and women and the strange way that women wore their hair. They spoke of wooden buildings which people lived in, the small rooms in St Louis where people gathered to eat, laying down gold coins to pay for the privilege yet sharing no food of their own. They spoke of men drinking fire water, of women dressed in brightly coloured shifts which showed their legs, who sat on the knees of men to share the firewater. They spoke of travelling for months down the Mississippi River by canoe, of passing small French trading posts and visiting other tribes to trade, of the great villages built with wood where you could go and trade for anything you desired. They spoke of tasting strange food which was too sweet for their tastes which lay heavy in the belly. They saw great herds of beasts called cattle, most of these animals owning strange horns, so different to the buffalo. They spoke of the ground living birds called chickens which were considered a delicacy. And they spoke of animals known as cats which owned thick fur coats and hunted mice and sometimes lived in the huge wooden houses.
When Madeleine watched the girls during these animated conversations, she sometimes thought back to when she saw them in St Louis almost two years ago. Then they had been cowering under blankets, doing their best to be invisible.
But one night as they all sat and listened to Te’tukhe and Poongatse and Wannge’e speak of St Louis, Ryder glanced at Madeleine and as she turned to meet his gaze, she was astonished by the haunted look on his face. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but that night as they lay abed, as the sleet battered the hide walls of the teepee, Ryder rolled over on his back and surprised Madeleine by speaking of her cave. They were alone, for Harry was once again sleeping with Poongatse and Qwidawo'yo.
“Shall we leave soon, before we all head north to the Salmon River?” he asked. “For I understand well enough you’ll want to go back there, even if to say goodbye.”
Madeleine was startled by the question and moved to sit up, to look at him. “Do you want to go up there Ryder?”
He shrugged as he moved to stretch his long legs. “On the contrary, my love. In truth, I am quite happy here. But if you desire it, then we shall go, for we have such a short amount of time here, we must do everything we can and have no regrets. You thought of the cave as your home, as much as this village was your home. I always thought you would want to go back.”
Madeleine said nothing for a long moment as she thought of that beautiful place high up on the northern ridge. And then she nodded. “Haa. I admit I did. Even in London I planned to spend the summer there with Harry. But things are different now,” she paused and reached for his hand, feeling the calluses and hard strength of it. “But if we go back, if will be for a day or two, no longer. And alone, not with Harry. Perhaps one day he might see my cave for himself, but not now. I don’t think there’s any reason for him to go there. And he’ll be happy enough with Poongatse and Qwidawo'yo for a week or so,” she paused and took a breath.
“But there’s another reason I should go back. I would very much like to get my father’s ring, la chevalière. It’s the only thing I own of my past and the only thing I can pass on to Harry. And it’s as important for me to share that with him as it is this village and these people and your brothers.”
Ryder said nothing for a long moment then he reached over to pick up a strand of her hair, lying loose upon her shoulders. And then he nodded, holding her gaze, looking into those gold brown eyes that had captivated him the first moment he saw them.
“Very well. It is agreed. You and I shall go back alone, perhaps in the first days of spring, before the Bannock leave for the Salmon River,” he said, his voice soft.
Madeleine nodded then moved to lie down, her body hugging the length of him. He reached out to caress her as they lay in the quiet of the night, the glow of the fire warming them along with their furs, although the cold outside licked at the teepee walls.
But long after Madeleine had fallen asleep, Ryder lay awake, restless and uneasy and finally he rose from their bed, his naked body a thing of beauty as he crouched by the flames. He placed another log on the hot coals, yet his thoughts weren’t on the chill of the night but England, and all the responsibilities that waited there for Harry. And again, as he often did, he wondered how the child would cope with what lay ahead of
him after this life of freedom, for Ryder knew well enough how he had struggled in the confines of English society as the son of an Earl, after his childhood with the Wazhazhe.
But they had to go back. They had no choice. For on Ryder’s death, Harry would become the 9th Earl Benedict and society would demand of him what they had demanded of Ryder. For although Harry owned the blood of the Ugákhpa people, he also bore the blood of both French and English titled noblemen. And even though his French title was now lost to him, as it had been lost to Madeleine and her parents during the years of the Revolution, he still carried his English title. He was heir to numerous Benedict estates and businesses, employing hundreds of people, so the education he would receive in that English boarding school which he must enter when he turned eight, would not only prepare him for that life, but introduce him to boys of a similar background, boys who might one day do deals with him, both in his business and personal life.
Ryder thought suddenly of Rupert’s four sons. They would also go to the same boarding school as Harry. Hopefully they would become good friends, as he and Rupert had done.
He shivered again, thinking on the years ahead, before turning back to bed and crawling under the warmth of the furs, feeling the heat of Madeleine’s body next to him. She moved in her sleep to lie close to him and as Ryder drifted off to sleep, his last thought was of the Petherington boys. If they were anything like Rupert, if they were even half as good a man as their father, they would support Harry in the years ahead. And Harry was resilient. The child had proved that already. And at least he wouldn’t have the likes of Jarryth or Thorne to cope with.
Nine
It was early one morning in late February when I found Paddake’e weeping alone in her teepee. I turned to leave, embarrassed to have found her in such a state, but she reached out and took my hand, preventing me from leaving.
