Angélique and Armand were waiting for him there. They had invited a few friends to dinner, but no one had arrived yet. They had been planning to have a quiet drink with Jean before dinner, and with his friend, before they knew what she was. Angélique had explained the situation to her husband, and he was greatly relieved that she had solved the problem so quickly. They agreed that their cousin had clearly lost his mind and judgment after spending too much time with the natives. It was unthinkable that he had brought one of them to stay with them.
They looked equally horrified when he strode into the room with Wachiwi on his arm. Her gown looked appropriate, although her flowing black hair wasn’t, and Angélique sat down looking faint when she saw her walk into the room.
“Jean, what are you thinking?” she asked him, as her husband stared at Wachiwi. He had to admit that she was beautiful and he could see why his young cousin wanted to be with her, but certainly not in anyone’s drawing room. The idea that Jean had dared to bring her here thoroughly shocked them both.
“What am I thinking, cousin?” Jean asked, his eyes smoldering dangerously. Wachiwi had never seen him that way before, nor had they. But they were getting a clear picture of what his temper could be like. Normally, it took a great deal to anger him. But now he was enraged, on Wachiwi’s behalf. “I’m thinking you’ve been extremely rude to my guest. I found her in the slave quarters half an hour ago, in a room with four other women. There seems to be some mistake. I’ve had her moved to my room,” he announced smoothly. “I’m sure you understand.”
“No, I don’t!” Angélique said, springing to her feet, her eyes every bit as ominous as his. “I will not have a savage in my house. How dare you bring her here! She belongs in the slave quarters where Tobias put her. I will not have a black woman at my dinner table. Get her out of here at once!” She wanted Wachiwi to disappear immediately, before her other guests arrived, and her husband was fully in agreement with her. Jean was not.
“She’s not a black woman. She’s a Dakota Sioux, and her father is a chief.”
“What? One of those savages who run around naked, killing people? Who did she murder before she came here? What white woman’s baby did she kill? Are you insane?”
“That’s a disgusting thing to say. If you’d like me to, we’ll go back to New Orleans immediately. Send your carriage around,” he said firmly as Angélique blustered at him, as furious as he was.
“That’s an excellent idea. And where do you think you’ll stay in town? No decent boardinghouse will have you either. You can’t bring an Indian girl into a proper establishment, any more than you could bring one of our slaves.”
“She’s not a slave,” he said sternly. “She’s the woman I love.”
“You’ve lost your mind,” Angélique assured him. “Thank God your parents aren’t alive to hear you say a thing like that, about her.” Wachiwi was watching them battle back and forth, not entirely sure what the argument was about, except that she did not feel welcome here. And she could only assume the argument was about her. She didn’t want to cause problems with his family. But Jean stood next to her in a reassuring protective way. It was obvious how angry they all were from the harsh tone of their words. In the short time she had known him, she had never seen Jean act that way or heard him speak as fiercely before. He had always been gentle and kind, with her and everyone else. But he was clearly furious with his cousins, and they were equally so with him.
“We’ll find a place to stay in town,” he said calmly.
“I doubt you will,” Angélique said shrilly, and as she said it, they heard carriage wheels on the driveway in front of the house, and both senior de Margeracs looked panicked. “Get that woman out of my drawing room immediately,” she said tersely, and without another word, Jean took Wachiwi’s arm and led her up the stairs. They had just reached the upper landing when the first of the guests walked in. And as soon as he reached his own room with Wachiwi, he explained to her as simply as he could that they were going back to town.
“They are angry for me,” she said clearly, looking sad for him. Tobias walked into the room then, and Jean asked him politely to pack his things. Wachiwi’s trunks were all over the room, but very little had been unpacked.
“No, I am angry at them.” He didn’t want to hurt her feelings and try to explain it to her. But their reaction had been a revelation to him. Was this what they had to look forward to, if they stayed in New Orleans? He had naïvely expected a warmer reception than this, in a civilized place. And now where were they supposed to go? Where would they live, if they stayed together, which he wanted very much now. But where? In a shack at the edge of Indian territory, like Luc Ferrier, hidden away with his Indian concubine until she died, never to go into the polite world again? Were people so narrow-minded? So mean-spirited? So absurd? And where was he going to take Wachiwi now?
The only relatives he had in America were his cousins in New Orleans. He knew no one else, except travelers and explorers and surveyors and soldiers he had met on the road. And it was one thing to lead a nomadic life alone, it was entirely different doing so with Wachiwi. He had hoped that they could stay there for several months, as he had before, until he figured out their plans. That night his elder cousins had shortened that time considerably.
The Margerac carriage drove them back to town half an hour later, and it was nearly midnight when they arrived at the boardinghouse in the city where they had stopped for a few hours earlier that day. Jean had asked to be taken back there. He had had no problem before, but had said they would only be there for a few hours. This time the desk clerk looked at him strangely, went to consult the manager, although it was the middle of the night, and finally gave them a small room at the back of the house, usually reserved for slightly unsavory people. They hadn’t seen Wachiwi when they gave him the room that afternoon. But at least they had a place to stay.
“Will you be staying long, sir?” the clerk asked uncomfortably.
“I don’t know,” Jean said honestly. He had no idea where to go. And for the time being at least, he had no desire to see his cousins, nor expose Wachiwi to them again. “It may be several weeks,” he said solemnly, wondering if he should take her north. For the moment, he had no idea.
Once in the room, he took his coat off and laid it on a chair. He helped Wachiwi out of her gown, and she put it into the trunk, and gratefully took the corset off and the complicated undergarments. He had bought her several nightgowns to sleep in, but she put on the elkskin dress instead. It was more comfortable than anything else she owned, and it was familiar for her. To Wachiwi, it was like the buckskin breeches he wore to ride when he traveled, which were easiest for him.
He talked to her about his own homeland then, as they sat in the small room. He didn’t know what else to say to her to distract her. It must have been obvious that something had gone very wrong. And as he talked to her, he had an idea. He was not sure if things would be better there, but they couldn’t be much worse than here, and he was beginning to fear that Wachiwi would be treated badly everywhere in the New World, west, north, south, or east. He wanted to take her home with him.
He told her there was a great lake called the Atlantic Ocean, and he lived on the other side. It would take them two full phases of the moon to get there, which seemed like a long time. He told her of the beauty of it once they arrived, the countryside in Brittany, the people she would meet in France, his brother who lived in their family château. He said that their lodge was much bigger than the one she had seen that night. She laughed at him then and said it was called a “house,” not a lodge, and he laughed back. With her he could face anything, climb any mountain, overcome any obstacle, and he wanted to protect her from the terrible affront and humiliation she had experienced at the de Margerac plantation. He suspected now that others would be as unkind to her as his cousins, and he was convinced that things would be better for them in France. He hoped that there she would be considered a rare and exotic bird, and not someone
to be punished and mistreated, and cast away. He knew what he had to do now. He would take her home to Brittany with him.
He planned to write to his brother the next morning, saying that they were coming home on the next ship. His letter would only arrive weeks or days before they did, but it would warn Tristan that they were arriving, and roughly when. Jean was going to book passage for them on the first possible ship going back to France. There was nothing for them here. It would be yet another adventure for them, and a long one, but after all they’d been through so far, being tossed around on the Atlantic Ocean for two months didn’t seem so bad. And for the first time in five years in the New World, Jean felt ready to go home. He hadn’t seen his brother nor his homeland in all that time. But he had done everything he had come here to do, discovered new places, had astonishing adventures, and now he had met the love of his life, a beautiful Sioux woman he wanted to marry and have children with. He had no idea what his older brother would think of it, but Tristan was a wise, understanding man, and no matter what anyone thought, Jean knew that Wachiwi was the woman for him. They were going home to start a new life together. As he smiled at her, he knew his boyhood days were over. And with his bride, the rest of their life would unfold.
Chapter 11
Just as Jean had decided the night before, after their disastrous visit to his cousins, and as he had told Wachiwi he would, he wrote to his brother Tristan in the morning. It was a long, careful letter that gave him the important points and left out some of the details. He didn’t tell him that he had murdered a Crow chief and absconded with the woman he intended to marry, who had been the chief’s slave. He said simply that he had met the woman of his life at last, that he was ready to come home and help his brother run their large estate. His wandering days were over now. It was time to settle down, and he had never felt that way before.
He was ten years younger than his brother, who was a widower with two young children, one of whom Jean had never met. When Jean had left Brittany, his brother Tristan had had a beautiful young wife and a year-old baby. A year later Tristan’s wife died when their second child was born. As far as Jean knew, his brother had been alone ever since. He hadn’t remarried, although Jean had no idea if he had a mistress of some sort, but Tristan was such a serious man that Jean doubted he would engage in anything but marriage and a respectable life.
They had the largest château in the district, and extensive lands. Tristan had always taken his responsibilities seriously, and Jean suspected he would be relieved that his younger brother was coming home to settle down too. At twenty-four, it had taken him time. He rhapsodized about Wachiwi in his letter, but gave Tristan few details, only that he loved her and that they were coming home to Brittany and planned to be married in the family church on their estate. Tristan had inherited the title and everything that went with it when he had been barely more than a boy himself, when their parents died in a terrible epidemic. Tristan had been eighteen, and Jean a child of eight. Tristan had been the head of the family ever since, and as much a father as a brother to Jean. The two men had been close before Jean left France, but he had felt a yearning in his soul to travel, something Tristan had never allowed himself. He had too much on his shoulders with all their properties, landholdings, and their vast estate. They had shipping interests, their parents’ enormous house in Paris that they seldom used, and Tristan was a regular presence at court. He was closely tied to the monarchy, and now Jean wanted to be too.
Jean had grown up, and the lovely Indian woman he was bringing home with him had helped him do it. He said everything that was important to him about her in the letter, except one detail. After the fiasco with his cousins, he didn’t want Tristan making judgments about Wachiwi before he met her, so he did not tell Tristan that she was a Sioux, nor her name. He wanted his older brother to love and accept her too, and Jean felt sure he would. He told his older brother how lovely she was, how brave and kind and gentle. She was a noble woman and a dignified human being, whatever her origin or race, and worthy of respect. Jean was sure that Tristan would see that immediately. He was that kind of person, and Jean had enormous admiration for him and all that he had carried without complaint for so many years. Everyone in the county adored him, and so did Jean. He could hardly wait to introduce him to Wachiwi now. And he was determined to teach her flawless French on their long journey, so that she could converse with his brother and all their friends in Brittany when they got back. She no longer had to learn English—their home and their life were going to be in France.
Wachiwi dressed herself carefully, and Jean smiled at her in approval as they left the boardinghouse and walked down to the port. It was a busy city, with a great deal of activity around the harbor. And Jean noticed with displeasure the disapproving glances cast at them as they walked along. He would have had no greater censure if he had been strolling through the port with a naked slave from one of the plantations. Men looked at her lasciviously since she was so beautiful, and women gave him a disgusted look and turned their gaze away. All women, particularly married ones, were aware of the things that men did when out of sight of respectable people, but parading publicly with an Indian woman, no matter how pretty she was, was beyond the pale. It was almost worse because Wachiwi was so lovely—the women who saw her with him seemed to loathe her all the more. Even Wachiwi, in her innocence and ignorance of the customs of his people, couldn’t miss the hostile stares. She asked him about it once when one particularly outraged matron gathered up her children around her, said something unpleasant to her husband, and forced them all to cross the street rather than be on the sidewalk with Jean and Wachiwi. People were clearly incensed that he acted as though Wachiwi were a respectable woman, and had dressed her like one, and treated her that way. If he had put his horse in a bonnet and a dress, they would have been less upset. And it was not just the women who ostracized him, the men obviously envied him but were blatant in their disapproval too. If they couldn’t do something like that, why could he? New Orleans was very definitely not the place for them, and Jean couldn’t wait to leave. He wanted to get Wachiwi away from their ugly stares, audible remarks, and their impression that she was no better than their slaves. He couldn’t wait to get back to France now, where he hoped she would be treated like a human being, and addressed with respect.
He spoke to two ship captains that morning, with Wachiwi standing next to him. He thought it best to say that they were married, and he explained that they wanted to book passage on the first ship back to France. The first captain took a long look at Wachiwi, recognized that she was an Indian, and a few minutes later said that all the cabins were booked. He said there was not a bit of room on the boat for them, which Jean did not believe. He felt certain that the captain didn’t want to deal with the complaints of other passengers on the ship, particularly the women, who might be outraged by the beautiful young Indian girl in their midst. And even more so that he was claiming she was his wife. Their fury would have been unpleasant for the captain to deal with for the seven or eight weeks it would take to get back to France. He didn’t want the headache.
The second captain was mellower and seemed more relaxed. He also recognized easily Wachiwi’s origins, but he didn’t seem to care. Jean could smell that he’d been drinking whiskey, but he booked their passage, took Jean’s money without questions, and said his ship was leaving for Saint Malo in Brittany in two weeks. He glanced at Jean’s traveling papers and didn’t care that Wachiwi had none. He didn’t have to account for the passengers on board nor even list them, and Jean’s money was good enough for him. She was neither a Spanish nor a French citizen and had no need of papers to enter France. The young French count said she was his wife, which was possible, although the captain considered it unlikely.
The captain estimated that the trip would take from six to eight weeks. It would be late September when they set sail, hurricane season would be almost over, and with luck and good weather, he hoped to reach the coast of France in November. T
he seas would be rough by then on the Atlantic, but there was nothing they could do. Jean didn’t want to wait a moment longer than he had to. He just hoped that the boardinghouse would let them keep their room until they sailed. If guests complained about Wachiwi’s presence, they might be asked to leave. But they had passage on a ship now, in the best cabin, and before they left the port, Jean gave his letter to his brother to another captain, who was sailing for France on a tiny, miserable-looking ship the next day. If the ship didn’t sink before it got there, his brother would have the letter announcing Jean’s return to France, shortly before they arrived.
Jean was more determined than ever to marry Wachiwi the moment they got back to France. He would have done it before he left, but he was certain that there wasn’t a priest or minister in all of New Orleans who would have performed the ceremony. They would have to wait until they reached France.
For the next two weeks, they stayed mostly in their room. They went for long walks at night, strolling through the busy city in the still-balmy night air. It was easier for them to go out at night than brave the disapproving stares of “respectable” people in the daytime. And in their confined daytime hours in the hotel room, he spent hours teaching Wachiwi French. She was doing surprisingly well, and knew the names for many things now. It was harder expressing abstract concepts and her feelings, but she was managing that too, although awkwardly at times. But they could actually have conversations, share ideas, and laugh a lot. Wachiwi seemed totally happy with him, and they spent a considerable amount of time in bed when they had nothing else to do. It was a universal language, and their passion and deep feelings for each other knew no bounds.
Jean’s cousin, Armand de Margerac, came to see him several days after their fateful visit to the plantation. He tried to talk Jean out of taking Wachiwi home with him to France. He said everyone there would be shocked as well, he would turn himself into a pariah, and cause his brother and family profound humiliation and shame.
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