She smiled. “Yes. My father carved the figures of Mary, Joseph and the infant Jesus himself.”
“Ours were porcelain, and they came from a shop in Paris. We placed them on our parlor mantel. Then, after reading the account from Scripture, my father would tell us to place our shoes in front of the fire and hurry off to bed—”
“Or Père Noël would not come?”
“Yes.”
She couldn’t help but smile again. “I was always told the same.”
“What was your favorite gift?”
“A doll, not one made of corn husk, but porcelain. She had dark hair and painted green eyes.”
He smiled.
“And yours?” she asked.
“A toy musket, although I was rather disappointed when I learned it wouldn’t actually fire.”
She laughed slightly, wondering what sort of boy he had been. Was he affectionate and expressive like Spotted Eagle or rough and rambunctious? Somehow she suspected the latter.
“We have lived very different lives,” he then said, “but I think we ourselves are not so different.”
She could feel that strange, frightful sensation inside her once more. She glanced again at her mother.
“Will you help me with something?” he asked.
She wanted to say yes, but prudence warned her to be cautious. He hadn’t told her what that something was yet.
“It won’t take long,” he promised, “but first...well, I had better speak to Captain Clark.”
Now he had her curious indeed. He strode away confidently before she could any questions. The music was still playing, and one of the soldiers came to her and requested a dance. Claire politely obliged him, but her thoughts were far from her new partner. Just what was Mr. Lafayette up to?
Thankfully the fiddle soon stopped. Private Cruzette reached for a drink, then began another tune. Mr. Lafayette returned before another soldier could claim her.
He was carrying a lantern and a hatchet. Captain Clark was on his heels. He was carrying a musket. “The captain agreed with my idea,” Mr. Lafayette said.
“What idea?” she asked.
“Gathering Christmas cheer.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He smiled. “There’s a pine grove just beyond the cottonwoods.”
Ah, now she understood, and since Captain Clark was to be the obvious escort... “I know it well,” she said. “It is not far.”
Claire followed his gaze toward her mother. Despite their limited language skills, Captain Lewis and Evening Sky were still managing a cheerful conversation.
“We could be back before she even knew we were gone,” Mr. Lafayette said. “We could surprise her.”
Claire liked the idea of a surprise, and since her mother was being looked after and Captain Clark was willing to provide escort, she agreed to the plan. Moving nonchalantly toward the fort’s gate, she waited for it to open.
Beyond its walls lay a vast, motionless, moonless landscape. Claire was thankful for the lantern, for the only light visible was the faint glow of cooking fires on the far side of the Missouri. Sadly, her people were passing this long winter night like any other.
The trio started off. Claire soon found that broadcloth was not nearly so useful in the snow as buckskin. Normally fast on her feet, she now struggled to keep pace with the men. The hem of her skirt grew wetter and heavier with each step. Nevertheless, she continued on. They passed the stumps of the cottonwood trees the soldiers had felled to build their fort, moved past the remaining timbers until they came to the grove of pine.
While Captain Clark kept his ear and musket cocked for any sounds of approaching danger, Claire held the lantern. Mr. Lafayette hacked away at the boughs. For a polished, city-bred gentleman, he worked with speed and skill. He knew how to handle himself in the wilderness. She supposed that was one of the reasons the captains had asked him to continue westward.
Soon a bundle of greenery lay at her feet.
“Do you know where we might find berries?” he asked.
She shook her head. “My people would have picked all that are edible by now, and the birds will have taken the rest.”
“I suppose we will have to do without them,” he said.
Instinctively she bent to pick up the bundle. “No,” he said. “It’s heavy. Allow me.”
Such kindness, she thought. A man of her tribe would have not only expected her to carry the boughs but also commanded it. Mr. Lafayette handled her the hatchet instead. Claire shivered slightly as his fingers brushed hers. All of a sudden, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have this man caress her face, her hair.
Shock jolted her senses now far more than his fleeting touch. Why was she thinking such absurd thoughts? Was she so starved for affection and security that she had taken to imagining things? She quickly turned her attention to Captain Clark. The man’s eyes were scanning the dark horizon.
“I think we have all we need now, sir,” Mr. Lafayette said. “Besides, Miss Manette is getting cold.”
Claire felt the blood drain from her face. He had seen her shiver. Thankfully he had not recognized it for what foolishness it actually was.
“Then we’d best be on our way,” Clark replied.
The merrymaking was still going on when the trio returned to the fort. Captain Clark barred the door behind them.
“Meet me at the blacksmith’s hut,” Mr. Lafayette whispered to her.
“Very well.”
He took the direct way, she the more roundabout. Her mother and Captain Lewis were still sitting by the fire. Evening Sky offered her a curious smile as Claire passed by.
She knows I have been scheming, she thought. Giving her what she hoped was an innocent-looking smile in return, Claire continued on.
Mr. Lafayette was already sorting through the greens when she arrived. “In what way would your mother prefer these to be displayed?” he asked.
There was no mantel, but there was the writing desk. “We could arrange them around that,” she said.
He had separated the greens into small and large piles. The small ones Claire twisted together as garland. The larger ones he formed into the shape of a wreath. Her excitement grew.
“There may be a bit of scarlet fabric left from my dress,” she said. “We could fashion a bow from that.”
He nodded, smiled. “That’s a capital idea, and we may have enough here for a second wreath.”
“Then let’s give it to the men,” she said.
“I think they would enjoy that.”
When they had finished, Mr. Lafayette poked his head out the door of the hut. “We’ll have to do some skulking to get these back without being seen.”
She couldn’t help but giggle.
“Are you opposed to skulking?” he asked with a grin.
“There is little point. My mother already knows we are plotting something.”
“Well, still, there is no need to announce our scheme. Let us try to make a surprise present.” He gathered the wreaths on his right arm and draped the garland around it also. “If we walk tighter perhaps they’ll be less noticeable.”
She was not all that eager to do so, especially given what she had been thinking in the pine grove. “Would our walking tightly together not arouse suspicion enough?”
He conceded her point with a smile. “You are correct. Take the garland and hide it beneath your cloak. I’ll follow along with the wreaths in a moment or two.”
She did as he suggested, making her way back to her hut as casually as she could. Stepping inside, Claire fumbled for a candle and lit it. One stick of tallow wasn’t going to produce much of a warm glow, but Claire was determined to make the best of what she had.
She laid the garland upon the desk, but before she cou
ld see to it properly, a fist pounded upon the door. Captain Clark was standing on her threshold, holding a box of candles. Mr. Lafayette was not five steps behind him. Knowing the parade would attract all the more attention, Claire beckoned them both inside.
The captain grinned, apparently somewhat amused by her distress. He then handed her the box of candles. “We can spare these for tonight,” he said. “After all, it is a holy celebration.”
“Merci, Captain.” After a curtsy, she hurried to place the candles about the room. The music outside had stopped. She knew the party was ending. With little time to spare, Claire hurriedly searched through her mother’s sewing supplies, found a few scraps of scarlet cloth. She tied a bow on each wreath, and then asked Captain Clark if he would be so kind as to present one of them to the men.
Clark cast a quick glance at Mr. Lafayette for translation, then smiled. “Oui,” he said, “and I’ll see to it that your mother is detained for a moment or two longer.” He stepped outside.
Mr. Lafayette lit the extra candles while she finished arranging the garlands. “It’s a pity we don’t have a crèche,” he said, “but I’m afraid I’m not very good at carving—especially not in five minutes’ time.”
“Carving!” Claire gasped. She’d almost forgotten her mother’s Christmas gift. From beneath her bedding, she retrieved a wooden cross necklace with a leather cord.
“Did you make that?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“It’s beautiful.”
She could feel a blush of pride darkening her cheeks. She had fashioned the necklace from cottonwood, smoothed it with river sand and then notched a Mandan-style border. She had done most of the work while her mother was sleeping.
“It isn’t a crèche,” she said.
“But it will do quite nicely.”
Grinning, she placed the necklace in the garland.
“Shall I hang this wreath here?” he asked, pointing to the wall beside her mother’s bed.
“Yes, please.”
When he had finished, Claire surveyed their surroundings. It wasn’t Illinois. It wasn’t her father’s doing, but the little hut now looked cozy and cheerful, and she knew her mother would dearly appreciate this gift. Claire appreciated the one who had thought of it. Greatly.
The forceful knock again sounded. As Claire brushed pine needles from her dress, Mr. Lafayette opened the door. Evening Sky stood at the threshold on the arm of Captain Clark. “Madame, I believe these two young people have crafted a surprise for you,” he said. He transferred her arm to Mr. Lafayette and then, with a smile, turned back for the parade ground.
Claire held back her tears as the Frenchman escorted her mother inside. Evening Sky’s eyes were wide with wonder and delight.
“For you, Mother,” Claire said. “In memory of father.”
With tears in her own eyes, Evening Sky kissed her daughter. She then turned and placed a kiss on Mr. Lafayette’s smooth cheek, as well. “Merci,” she said. “Merci.”
Claire’s heart was completely full. As her mother then went about the hut, fingering each bough, Claire looked back at Mr. Lafayette. “Thank you,” she said, although the words seemed wholly inadequate.
“It was my pleasure,” he said. He studied her for a moment, then said, “I should go.”
Yes, she supposed he should. The surprise had been presented and it was late, but she wasn’t all that eager for him to leave. She had enjoyed this evening immensely. “I suppose I shall see you tomorrow morning.”
“Actually, no. I’ll be on the hunt.”
“Oh?” She could feel disappointment rising inside her.
“There will be no work tomorrow. Captains’ orders. Tomorrow is to be a day of freedom, of frivolity and feasting...at least, as much feasting as our food supply will allow.”
He flashed her an adventurous, slightly roguish smile. She took no offense in it, however, for she knew any trickery he had up his sleeve would be directed at the animals he hoped to capture tomorrow. “Then I wish you a good hunt,” she said. “Thank you again, Mr. Lafayette, for everything.”
“Pierre,” he gently corrected her. “And Joyeux Noël, Mademoiselle Manette.”
She hesitated, but only for the briefest of seconds. “Claire,” she said, “and a Merry Christmas to you as well.”
He took her hand, bowed gallantly over it and kissed it gently. “Claire,” he repeated with a smile. Then he turned and closed the door behind him.
Chapter Seven
Although the boom of a cannon and a volley of musket fire jolted Claire from her dreamy sleep, she was not alarmed by the sounds. She knew their significance. The firing of the guns was the soldiers’ way of marking celebration. Christmas morning had come.
Claire drew in a deep, satisfied breath, filling her lungs with the scent of wood and pine. Across the hut her mother still lay sleeping, her face toward the wall. Good, Claire thought. Evening Sky needed the rest after the previous evening. The two of them had talked until the wee hours of the morning, till the candles waned and their eyelids grew heavy. Her mother had loved the cross necklace Claire had made for her and repeatedly told her how much she had enjoyed the gift of a celebration, particularly the decoration.
“Young Lafayette is a kind and considerate man,” she said.
“Indeed, he is.”
Long after her mother had drifted off to sleep, Claire lay beneath her own pile of blankets and buffalo skins, recounting every detail of the moments shared with him. The Scripture reading and singing had strengthened her soul. The hanging of the greens had delighted her senses. The feel of Mr. Lafayette, of Pierre, taking her hand in his and pressing it to his lips had stirred her heart.
It stirs it still. She didn’t know whether to blush or giggle, to feel ashamed or happy. Pierre Lafayette was on the verge of stealing her heart, a feat no man had yet to accomplish, and she knew she could not allow that to happen.
Last night, for one quick moment, she had the audacity to wonder if he just might be the answer to her prayers. But that cannot be! He was handsome, yes, and he had come to her aid. He’d shown respect to her and her mother. He’d become a friend, but that didn’t make him a potential husband.
Mr. Lafayette was an honorable man. He was not, however, interested in courtship. The chill of winter will eventually surrender to the warmth of spring. The Missouri will thaw and he will be on his way. He has his duties. I have mine. I cannot allow myself to become distracted from my true purpose here, to bring the good news to my family, my tribe.
Yet as much as she wanted to discount the thoughts that had passed through her mind last night, to claim they were the simple product of a lonely woman reaching out to a kind soul, she couldn’t.
She tried to force Pierre from her thoughts but found her curiosity only growing. Claire couldn’t help but wonder where he was at that moment and what exactly he was doing. Had he been successful in his hunt? Was he now in the process of dressing a prize elk or buffalo?
She remembered how skillfully he had worked with his hatchet last night, how deft his hands had been fashioning the boughs into wreaths. He was quick and strong, but he’d been most gentle when he had touched her.
She indulged for a moment in that vein until a forceful knock on the door jolted her back to reality. Hastily donning her buffalo robe, Claire answered the summons. Captain Clark stood waiting outside. He cast her what she thought was a curious look, one that made her cheeks warm with embarrassment. Could he tell what she had just been thinking?
“My apologies for disturbing you, Miss Manette,” he said.
Claire blushed even further. It was a holiday, yes, but this man was dressed in his full uniform, and his boots were already muddy. Clearly he had been up and about for hours. Here she was with her hair still loose about her shoulders.
“Capt
ain Lewis wishes to see you,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
Limited language skills aside, she could tell he did not wish to elaborate. A chill shivered through her. Something was wrong. Her thoughts immediately flew to Pierre. Had he been injured on his hunt?
Or was it something even worse? Had she mistaken the cause behind the discharge of weaponry? Was there some impeding danger? The Sioux had come marauding only weeks ago, as they often did, thieving and bent on bloodshed. As Pierre had once so ruefully remarked, war was a way of life here on the frontier. Have the Sioux returned? Have they captured Pierre?
Her knees felt weak, her throat dry. Unable to formulate further words, she nodded to Captain Clark. He quickly turned on his heel. Closing the door behind him, Claire hurriedly pulled on her leggings and moccasins. Rather than take the time to plait her hair, she twisted it into a bun. Her hands were trembling, but she managed to secure the locks with her twigs. During all this, Evening Sky stirred slightly beneath her bedding, but Claire was able to slip outside the door without waking her.
Low, heavy clouds shrouded the fort, speaking the promise of more snow. The air seemed colder than it had last night. The chill went all the way through her bones. There were few soldiers on the parade ground this morning. Claire wanted to think them still sleeping or off on the hunt, but fear told her they were preparing for battle. If so, what would be the outcome for them? What would be the outcome for her and her people?
She reached the officers’ quarters. Captain Lewis met her at the door. His features were grave and taut. “Thank you for coming, Miss Manette.”
“Are men danger?” she asked in stunted English. “Hunt? Sioux?”
Lewis blinked, and then realized her concern. “No. No. I’ve had no word of anything amiss with the hunt, nor with the neighboring Sioux.”
She heaved a sigh of relief but realized she had just betrayed herself. If this man was as observant and intelligent as he appeared to be, he’d have little trouble knowing why, or rather, for whom exactly she had first been concerned.
How foolish am I? I’ve left no secret as to where my heart is becoming inclined.
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