A Little Girl in Old St. Louis

by Amanda M. Douglas

  CHAPTER III

  A NEW HOME

  In after years, when Renee de Longueville looked back at what seemed thereal beginning of her life, everything about the old town was envelopedin a curious glamour. For it was all abloom. Such flowers, such greattrees in pink and white, such fragrance everywhere, and everybody movingto and fro, as if impelled by some strange power. What were they alldoing? And the children were so merry. To a little girl who had beenmewed up in an old chateau, rather gloomy at that, and no one about butelderly servants, the transition was mysterious, quite beyond thechild's depth. But she felt the new life in every limb, in every nerve,and she was full of joy.

  The streets of the old town, if not wide, were comparatively straight;those running along the river the longest, those stretching up to thefort only a few squares. Nearly every homestead had its separate lot orgarden, enclosed by some sort of rude fence. Outside were the fields,cultivated largely in common; woodlands and an immense prairiestretching out to the northwest. Beside the fort were several towers inwhich ammunition was stored, although the Spanish government had a greatfancy for building these.

  Gaspard Denys was very busy cleaning up his place and making somealterations. In his heart he began to feel quite like a family man. Mostof the stores were kept in the residences, except those down on thelevee. The people seldom suffered from depredations. Their treatment ofthe Indians was uniformly honorable, and they kept them as much aspossible from the use of ardent spirits. The slaves were happy in theirlot. Indeed, a writer in early eighteen hundred speaks of the town asarcadian in its simplicity and kindliness to its dependents. Women neverworked in the fields, and much of the housework was done by the slavesand Indian women. Holidays were frequent, in which all joined. In thesummer, out-of-doors sports and dances often took place, very much likemodern picnics, at which one frequently saw parties of Indians. Therewere no hostelries; but if a stranger came in town he was sheltered andtreated to the best. Hospitality was considered one of the first duties.

  There was one large room in the log part of the house, but Denysresolved to build another. His little girl should have a place of hervery own, and from time to time he would find adornments for it. Hereshe should grow to womanhood. Antoine Freneau was not a young man whenhe had married; and though people who did not meet with accidents livedto a good old age, he was old already. He always pleaded poverty, thoughhe did considerable dickering in the way of trade, and it was surmisedthat his business dealings would not stand honest scrutiny, and hisunsocial habits did not endear him to the joyous community. Still,whatever he had left would come to Renee. He, Denys, would make sure ofthat.

  Renee soon became domesticated with the Renauds. Elise and Sophie playedabout most of the time, and were jolly, laughing little girls. Twice aweek they went to the house of the good Father Lemoine, who taught themto read and write and gave them some knowledge of mathematics, which wasquite necessary in trading. Twice a week the boys went, and on Saturdaythey repeated the catechism orally.

  Denys called in a little help; but every man was his own builder, withsome cordial neighborly assistance. So they raised the posts andstudding, and fastened the cross ties--round on the outside, the smoothpart, or middle, going on the inside. The interstices were filled withmortar made of tough grass and clay that hardened easily. Sometimes thiswas plastered on the inside, but oftener blankets were hung, which gavea bright and cheerful appearance, and warmth in winter.

  The stone part was cleared up and put in order. It had a big chimney,part of which was in the adjoining room. Denys spread about quantitiesof sweet grass to neutralize the musty smell; though the clear,beautiful air, with its mingled perfumes, was doing that. On the shelveshe spread some of his wares, implements of different sorts were rangedabout the walls. Near the door was a counter; back of it two iron-boundchests, very much battered, that he had bought with the place and thesmall store of goods from the family of the dead owner. These held hischoicest treasures, many of which he had brought from Quebec, which wereto please the ladies.

  The voyages up and down the river were often tedious, and sometimes thetraders were attacked by river pirates, who hid in caves along the banksand drew their boats up out of sight when not needed. Peltries and leadwent down to New Orleans, wheat and corn and imported articles werereturned. There were some troublesome restrictions, and about as muchcame overland from Detroit.

  If Renee made friends with the Renaud household, they had no power towin her from Uncle Gaspard. They had insisted on his accepting theirhospitality, though he devoted most of his time to the work he washurrying forward. Now and then he came just at dusk and spent the night,but was always off early in the morning before Renee was up.

  She often ran up the street, sometimes reaching the house before hestarted. The children were ready enough to go with her, but she likedbest to be alone. She had a curious, exclusive feeling about him, youngas she was.

  "But he is not your true uncle," declared Elise, one day when she hadlaid her claim rather strenuously. "Mamma said so. Your uncles have tobe real relations."

  "But he said when we were in Quebec that he _was_ my uncle--that I was tobe his little girl," was the defiant rejoinder.

  "And if your gran'pere had not agreed?"

  "I would never have stayed there. It makes me shiver now. I would--yes, Iwould have run away."

  "He is not like our gran'pere, who is a lovely old man, living up by theGovernment House. And gran'mere gives us delightful little cakes when wego there. And there are uncles and aunts, real ones. Barbe is our aunt."

  Renee's small heart swelled with pride and a sense of desolation. Shehad gathered already that Grandpapa Freneau was not at all respected;and there were moments when she felt the solitariness of her life--theimpression that she had in some sense been cast off.

  "But my father is at the palace of the King of France. He came to see meon an elegant horse, and his clothes were splendid. And there are twolittle brothers. Oh, such fine people as there are in Paris."

  That extinguished the little girls. It was true that now the French hadgotten over their soreness about the transfer. They never meddled withpolitics, but they still loved the old flag. The Spanish governors hadbeen judicious men thus far.

  So that night Renee slipped out from the supper table and sped like alittle sprite along the Rue Royale, and then up the Rue de Rive. Themoon was coming over the river with a pale light, as if she was notquite ready for full burning. She heard the sounds of hammering, andrushed in the open doorway.

  "Well, little one! Your eyes are so bright that if you were an Indiangirl I should call you Evening Star."

  "I wanted to see you so," in a breathless fashion.

  "What has happened?"

  "Why, nothing. Only the day seemed so long."

  "You went to the father's?"

  "Oh, yes," rather indifferently.

  "Why didn't you run over then? You might have taken supper with me."

  "Because--there were Elise and Sophie."

  "But there was supper enough to go round. We had some fine broiled fish.Mere Lunde is an excellent cook."

  "Oh, when can I come to stay?" Her tone was full of entreaty, and hereyes soft with emotion.

  "But--you won't have any little girls to play with."

  "I don't want any one but you."

  He had paused from his work, and now she sprang to him and encircled himas far as she could with her small arms.

  "You are not homesick?" It would be strange, indeed, since she had neverhad a true home.

  "I don't know. That," giving her head a turn, "is not my real home."

  "Oh, no. But they have all been good to you. Ma'm'selle Barbe is veryfond of you."

  "Oh, everybody is good and kind. Even Louis, though he teases. And PereRenaud. But not one of them is you--_you_."

  "My little girl!" He stooped over and hugged her, kissed her fondly. Thechild's love was so innocent, so sincere, that it brought again thehopes of youth.

 
; "And you will always keep me--always?" There was a catch in her breathlike a sob.

  "Why, yes. What has any one said to you?" with a slight touch ofindignation.

  "Sophie said you were not my own uncle. What would make you so? Can younever be?"

  There was a pathos in her tone that touched him to the heart, even as hesmiled at her childish ignorance, and was wild to have the past undone.

  "My dear, you can hardly understand. I must have been your mother'sbrother."

  "Oh, then you would have belonged to that hateful old man!" and she gaveher foot a quick stamp. "No, I should not want you to."

  He laughed softly. He would have been glad enough to belong to thehateful old man years ago, and belong to the child as well.

  "It doesn't matter, little one," he said tenderly. "I shall be youruncle all my life long. Don't bother your head about relationships.Come, see your room. It will soon be dry, and then you shall takepossession."

  It had been whitewashed, and the puncheon floor--laid in most houses, itbeing difficult to get flat boards--stained a pretty reddish color. Thewindow had a curtain hung to it, some of the Canadian stuff. One cornerhad been partitioned off for a closet. There was a box with a curtaintacked around it, and a white cover over it, to do duty as adressing-table. There were two rustic chairs, and some pretty Indianbasket-like pouches had been hung around.

  "Oh, oh!" she cried in delight. "Why, it is as pretty as Ma'm'selleBarbe's--almost as pretty," correcting herself. "And can I not come atonce?"

  "There must be a bed for you to sleep on, though we might sling ahammock."

  "And Mere Lunde?"

  "Come through and see."

  In one corner of this, which was the ordinary living room, was a sort ofpallet, a long box with a cover, in which Mere Lunde kept her ownbelongings, with a mattress on the top, spread over with a blanket,answering for a seat as well. She had despoiled her little cottage, forGaspard Denys had said, "It is a home for all the rest of your life ifyou can be content," and she had called down the blessings of the goodGod upon him. So, here were shelves with her dishes, some that hermother had brought over to New Orleans as a bride; china and pewter, andcoarse earthenware acquired since, and queer Indian jars, and basketsstiffened with a kind of clay that hardened in the heating.

  "Welcome, little one," she exclaimed cheerfully. "The good uncle getsready the little nest for thee. And soon we shall be a family indeed."

  She lighted a torch and stood it in the corner, and smiled upon Renee.

  "Oh, I shall be so glad to come!" cried the child joyfully. "And my roomis so pretty."

  She looked with eager eyes from one to the other.

  "And the garden is begun. There are vines planted by ma'm'selle'swindow. In a month one will not know the place. And it is near to thechurch and the good father's house."

  "But I wouldn't mind if it was a desert, so long as you both were here,"she replied enthusiastically.

  "We must go back, little one. They will wonder about you. Just bepatient awhile."

  "And thou hast no cap," said Mere Lunde.

  "Oh, that does not matter; the night is warm. Adieu," taking the hardhand in her soft one. Then she danced away and caught Gaspard's arm.

  "Let us walk about a little," she pleaded. "The moon is so beautiful."If they went direct to the Renauds', he would sit on the gallery andtalk to Barbe.

  "Which way?" pausing, looking up and down.

  "Oh, toward the river. The moon makes it look like a silver road. And itis never still except at night."

  That was true enough. Business ended at the old-fashioned supper time.There was one little French tavern far up the Rue Royale, near theLocust Street of to-day; but the conviviality of friends, which wasmostly social, took place at home, out on the wide porches, where cardswere played for amusement. The Indians had dispersed. A few people werestrolling about, and some flat boats were moored at the dock, almostindistinguishable in the shade. The river wound about with a slow, softlapping, every little crest and wavelet throwing up a sparkling gem andthen sweeping it as quickly away.

  From here one could see out to both ends. The semi-circular gatesterminated at the river's edge, and at each a cannon was planted andkept in readiness for use. Now and then there would be vague rumorsabout the English on the opposite shore. The new stockade of logs andclay surmounted by pickets was slowly replacing the worn-out one.

  Renee was fain to linger, with her childish prattle and touchinggestures of devotion. How the child loved him already! That a faint tintof jealousy had been kindled would have amused him if he had suspectedit.

  When they turned back in the Rue Royale they met M. Renaud enjoying hispipe.

  "Ah, truant!" he exclaimed; "they were beginning to feel anxious aboutyou. Barbe declared you might stay all night. Was it not true you hadthreatened?"

  "They would not have me," she returned laughingly, her heart in a glowover the thought that when she did stay permanently, there would be noneed of Uncle Gaspard going to the Renauds'.

  "Was that it?" rather gayly. "The girls will miss thee. They are veryfond of thee, Renee de Longueville."

  Then Renee's heart relented with the quick compunction of childhood.

  "M. Laclede's fleet of keel boats will be up shortly, I heard to-day.The town must give him a hearty welcome. What a man he is! What energyand forethought! A little more than twenty years and we have grown tothis, where there was nothing but a wild. Denys, there is a man foryou!"

  "Fort Chartres helped it along. I was but a boy when we came over. Mymother is buried there, and it almost broke my father's heart to leaveher."

  "Those hated English!" said Renaud, almost under his breath. "Thecolonies have revolted, it is said. I should be glad to see them drivenout of the country."

  "Yes, I heard the talk at Quebec and more of it as I came down thelakes. But the country is so big, why cannot each take a piece incontent? Do you ever think we may be driven out to the wilderness?"

  "And find the true road to India?" with a short laugh. "Strange storiesare told by some of the hunters of inaccessible mountains. And what isbeyond no one knows," shrugging his shoulders.

  No one knew whether the gold-fields of La Salle's wild dreams lay inthat direction or not. There were vague speculations. Parties hadstarted and never returned. The hardy pioneers turned their stepsnorthward for furs. And many who heard these wild dreams in their youth,half a century later crossed the well-nigh inaccessible mountains andfound the gold. And before the century was much older ships were ontheir way to the East of dream and fable.

  Barbe and Madame Renaud were out on the porch in the moonlight, and itwas very bright now. Denys would not stay, and soon said good-night tothem, going back to his work by a pine torch.

  Renee counted the days, and every one seemed longer. But at last thejoyful news came.

  "We shall run over often," declared Sophie, who had a fondness for thelittle girl in spite of childish tiffs.

  Renee was busy enough placing her little store of articles about,discovering new treasures, running to and fro, and visiting Mere Lunde,who had a word of welcome every time she came near.

  "It will be a different house, petite," she said, with her kindly smile.

  The garden could not compare with the Renauds in the glory of its gayflower-beds. Two slaves of a neighbor--they were often borrowed for atrifle--were working at it. A swing had been put up for the little lady.

  But somehow, when the afternoon began to lengthen, when Uncle Gaspardhad gone up to the Government House on some business, and Mere Lunde wasin a sound doze over the stocking she was knitting, Renee felt strangelysolitary. She missed the gay chat of Madame Renaud and her sister andthe merriment of the children. There seemed none immediately about here.She strolled around to the front of the store; the door was locked, andit looked rather dreary.

  She was glad to-morrow was the day for the classes to meet. Why, it wasalmost as lonesome as at the old chateau!

  That evening Uncle Ga
spard brought out his flute, which filled her withdelight. The violin was the great musical instrument in St. Louis--thefavorite in all the French settlements. But the flute had such a tendertone, such a mysterious softness, that it filled her with anindescribable joy. And there was none of the dreadful tuning that raspedher nerves and made her feel as if she must scream.

  Then, it was strange to sleep alone in the room when she had been withMa'm'selle Barbe and the two girls. They were versed in Indiantraditions, and some they told over were not pleasant bed-time visions.But the comfort was that all these terrible things had happened inMichigan, or a place away off, called New England; and Sophie did notcare what the Indians did to the English who had driven them out of thesettlements on the Illinois. So, why should she? She was still more of aFrench girl, because she was born in France.

  But the world looked bright and cheery the next morning, and thebreakfast was delightful, sitting on the side toward Uncle Gaspard, andhaving Mere Lunde opposite, with her gay coif and her red plaid kerchiefinstead of the dull gray one. Her small, wrinkled face was a pleasantone, though her eyes were faded, for her teeth were still white andeven, and her short upper lip frequently betrayed them. She poured thecoffee and passed the small cakes of bread, which were quite as good asMadame Renaud's.

  The lines were not strictly drawn in those days between masters andservants. And Mere Lunde had been her own mistress for so many yearsthat she possessed the quiet dignity of independence.

  Then Renee inspected her room afresh, ran out of doors and gathered afew flowers, as she had seen Ma'm'selle Barbe do. She ventured to peepinto Uncle Gaspard's abode.

  "Come in, come in!" he cried cheerily. "There is no one to buy you up,like a bale of merchandise."

  "But--you wouldn't sell me?" Her eyes had a laughing light in them, hervoice a make-believe entreaty, and altogether she looked enchanting.

  "Well, it would take a great deal of something to buy you. It would haveto be more valuable than money. I don't care so much for money myself."

  He put his arm about her and hugged her up close. He was sitting at amassive old desk that he had bought with the place. It seemed crowdedfull of various articles.

  "But you love me better than any one else?"

  "Any one else? Does that mean ever so many people love you? The Renaudchildren, and Ma'm'selle Barbe, and--perhaps--your grandfather?"

  "Oh, you know I don't mean that!" Her cheek flushed with a dainty bit ofvexation. "The others _like_ me well enough, but you--how much do youlove me?"

  "The best of any one. Child, I do not think you will ever understand howdear you are to me. There is no measurement for such love."

  That was the confession she wanted. Her face was radiant with delight--achild's pleasure in the present satisfaction.

  She glanced around. "Do you mean to sell all these things?" she askedwonderingly.

  "Oh, yes and many more. I ought to be down on the Rue Royale, wherepeople could find me easily. But I took a fancy to this old place, andthe man was in my debt; so he paid me with it. It would not be sopleasant to live down there, on the lower side, by the levee. But Ishall stay here and wait till the people come to me. After all, for afew years, if we get enough to eat and a little to wear, it willsuffice."

  "And what then?" with captivating eagerness.

  "Why, then--" he hesitated. Why should he think of this just now? He didnot want her grown up into a charming mademoiselle, even if sheresembled her mother still more strongly.

  "Yes; what then? Isn't it just the same afterward, or do people come toa time when they stop eating?" and a gleam of mischief crossed her face.

  "That is at the end of life, child--sixty or eighty years."

  "No, I don't mean that time," with a shrug and a little curl of the lip."Maybe--after a few years----"

  "Well?" in amused inquiry.

  "You might go to New Orleans and take me. Ma'm'selle Barbe has been, andshe says it is so beautiful and gay."

  "And you have been half over the world. Ma'm'selle has not been toQuebec nor Detroit."

  "Oh, that is true enough," laughingly. "Nor to France."

  Two customers paused at the door, and he said, "Run away, dear." So shewent obediently, watched Mere Lunde at her work awhile, then strolledout to the garden spot, where two hired slaves were working. What shouldmake them so different from white people? Where was Africa and theGuinea Coast that she heard spoken of at the Renauds'? Their lips wereso thick and red and their hair so woolly. But they seemed very merry,though she could not understand a word they said; it was a queer patois.

  Uncle Gaspard came out presently. "Wouldn't you like to have a flowergarden?" he asked.

  "What is here?" She put out her small moccasined toe toward a ratherstiff-looking plot of green plants.

  "Oh, that is Mere Lunde's garden of herbs. All manner of things forpotage, and the making of sundry remedies in which she has great faith.She will look after that."

  "And must I look after mine?"

  "I will come and help you."

  "Oh, then, I will have a garden!" she cried joyfully.