Frontier Agreement

by Shannon Farrington

  Claire offered her mother a smile. “We all wish we had your courage.”

  “You have, child,” she said.

  She wasn’t so sure about that, but she nodded respectfully and tugged on the horse.

  The men of the village were gathered in their usual place. Beneath the tree of the Lone Man they sat, visiting and discussing their ideas. Running Wolf was among them.

  Claire’s stomach knotted at the sight of him, but, repeating the verse again in her mind, she continued toward her family’s lodge. Little Flower poked her head outside the door just as Claire was assisting Evening Sky to the ground. With a squeal, her cousin came running.

  “Oh, Bright Star! Such a surprise! We did not expect your return so soon!”

  Claire took comfort in Little Flower’s enthusiasm and embrace. So did her mother. They were pleased to see her, as well. They had missed her.

  “And how are all the children?” Claire asked.

  “Very well. Spotted Eagle claimed his first elk, and River Song has another tooth.”

  “I am most pleased for you and for them, cousin.”

  Little Flower’s smile faded. Claire felt her uncle’s ominous presence fall over her. Cautiously she turned. “I have returned, uncle,” she said.

  His frown was unmistakable, as was the harshness of his tone. “What displeasure did you bring? Why did the white chiefs send you back so quickly?”

  Claire swallowed hard, searching for the words. Her mother found them first.

  “She caused no displeasure, brother. She has completed her work. The white chiefs no longer have need of her. They send her back with their greetings.”

  The frown remained. “Then you will return the horses.”

  Claire wasn’t certain if the previous sentence was a command or a statement of disappointment. Nevertheless, she nodded humbly to show she was willing to do his bidding. “Captain Lewis insists he himself will come tomorrow for the horses,” she explained.

  To that, Running Wolf nodded contemplatively. “Chief Black Cat says that no Mandan must visit fort today. Today is a day of powerful medicine for white men.”

  “Not the day itself, brother,” Evening Sky gently corrected him. “The day is but a celebration for the one who came to earth this day, the Creator’s son. The one born to save.”

  The significance of Christmas held no meaning for Running Wolf. He simply crossed his arms over his broad chest and sniffed at his sister’s explanation.

  “The Son is a gift to us,” Evening Sky said, “and I bring you a gift to mark this occasion.” She withdrew the beaded moccasins from her pouch and handed them to her brother.

  Whether the footwear served as appeasement for the impending loss of the horses or he truly appreciated his sister’s gesture, Claire could not say. Her uncle’s expression did not change, but, gesturing toward the lodge, he indicated that they should go inside.

  We are welcome, Claire thought, at least for now.

  Evening Sky started toward the door with Little Flower, but Claire remained where she was. There was something she needed to do. She wasn’t certain how her uncle would receive it, but she felt compelled to speak all the same.

  She nodded humbly once more. “I thank you for your welcome, uncle. I know I have not been as grateful for it as I should...”

  His eyebrow arched.

  “I have held bitterness in my heart. I have pined for my father’s land. Forgive me. It was wrong of me to do so.”

  Running Wolf looked as if he did not know what to say to that. Once more he motioned for her to go inside the lodge. Claire did so.

  After hugging her little cousins, then fetching the herbs so Little Flower could steep her father’s favorite tea, Claire settled in next to her mother on her pallet.

  “You have done well,” Evening Sky whispered to her, “both here and at the fort. You speak peace, and God is pleased by that.”

  Claire drew in a breath. She appreciated her mother’s words. She hoped God was indeed pleased with her. She hoped Running Wolf would be, as well.

  Christmas and the days that followed passed as any other winter days on the plains. There was corn to grind, meat to roast. There were cakes to bake and children to feed. Claire immersed herself in the daily activities of tribal life but found her thoughts drifting repeatedly back to the fort.

  Aside from thinking of Pierre, whom she indeed missed but was determined to forget, Claire couldn’t help but second-guess her decision to refuse Captain Lewis’s offer of continued work. One reason she had returned to the lodge was that it was warmer for her mother, but the cozy earthiness had not helped Evening Sky’s health, and neither had the cheerfulness of Little Flower’s children.

  Evening Sky’s face grew thinner, in spite of the availability of food. She showed no interest in eating. Something was wrong.

  Would it have been better to be under Captain Lewis’s medical supervision? Claire wondered. But even if they had stayed at the fort, there was no way to know if her mother would have accepted the captain’s help. She repeatedly told Claire not to fret over her, but of course the daughter could not refrain from doing so.

  “Mother, please...take more nourishment.”

  “It does not suit me, child. But if you insist, I’ll take a little tea.”

  Despite her lack of appetite, Evening Sky’s spirit remained strong. Claire heard her singing hymns each morning as she washed River Song’s face. The one-and-a-half-year-old girl giggled at her great aunt’s touch and tried her best to emulate her songs. The words, however, were still babble.

  Evening Sky repeated them patiently. “Love...heart... Great Spirit... Jesus...”

  Claire wondered what Running Wolf would say to that last word. The man had said little to her and her mother since their return, which was worrying. And yet that also meant that he had said nothing further about the marriage agreement. Claire did not bring the matter up for discussion.

  * * *

  Pierre had plenty of time to think about what he had done and what could happen in the future as he tanned the hides his group had brought back from the hunt. The skins had been stretched upon the palisade wall to dry, and now Pierre painstakingly scraped away the animal hair.

  He wanted to do his best because that was his character, but he also wished to do so because of what had happened between him and Captain Lewis.

  “It is your choice, Mr. Lafayette, whether you choose to continue with this expedition or not,” Lewis said that morning as Pierre was beginning his work. “You alone will bear the responsibility for your future.”

  Pierre humbly conceded the captain’s point. He knew he had gravely jeopardized his standing in this man’s eyes. He’d made himself a fool, and to make matters worse, he had done so unnecessarily.

  “Of her own accord...” The words repeated again and again in his mind, yet for the life of him, he still couldn’t reconcile her decision to leave. He had seen the tears in her eyes, felt the tremble in her hands the night her uncle had attempted to trade her. He knew she was committed to sharing her faith with her tribe, but she herself had told him her uncle’s heart was hardened to the message.

  Captain Lewis won’t be around to rescue her from the next trapper or warrior who has something of value to barter, and neither will I. What could village life offer her except further restriction and fear?

  Then another possibility hit him square between the eyes. Was there a particular warrior, one who showed at least some interest in the gospel? Did she hope he would claim her? He paused in his work long enough to consider that.

  If that is the case, then I should be happy for her.

  He returned to his scraping. He wasn’t happy. He did not like the thought of any man, Indian or white, saved or not, making her his wife.

  And yet, he wasn’t willing to cla
im her. Doing so would mean the end of his adventure for certain. She knows her own mind, he told himself. Whatever her reasons, she has chosen to return to her village. What happens to her from here on out is not my concern.

  But he couldn’t quite convince himself of that. His stomach continued to churn. He tried to pray for her safety and for the success of her mission, but that didn’t make him feel any better. He then tried imagining the height and color of the mountain ranges he would be crossing come spring, the size of the bears he hoped to take down. He thought of the Pacific. Was it as peaceful and as blue as the Spaniards claimed, gray like the great Atlantic or muddy like the raging Mississippi river after a heavy rainstorm?

  He didn’t know. The only thing he could fully envision was Claire Manette’s enchanting green eyes. How quickly his heart beat whenever she leveled her gaze upon him.

  See to the tasks at hand, he ordered himself.

  Dutifully he scraped the last of the hair from the hide, then began treating it with a mixture of fat and oil. He rubbed. He smoothed. He laid the skin over a smoking frame positioned carefully above a smoldering fire. The last step would keep the leather supple even when wet.

  And wet we will be. By the information they had been gathering from the natives, there were places ahead where more than likely they’d be ferrying the canoes through the river instead of the canoes ferrying them.

  Pierre repeated the tanning process all that week. The final days of December passed interminably slowly. By the time January arrived, he was no closer to putting Claire Manette from his mind than when he’d first had the audacity to argue with Captain Lewis.

  The first morning of 1805 dawned cloudy but relatively warm, at least by measurements on the plains. Captain Clark and a party of musicians planned to visit the lower Mandan village that afternoon at the chief’s request for a New Year’s celebration. Pierre had no interest in frivolity that day, or in joining the second group that Captain Lewis would lead to the upper village, Claire’s village, the following afternoon. He continued tanning hides, and when finished with that task, he chopped wood. Still he thought of Claire.

  Upon the second party’s return, Private Cruzette mentioned having seen her carrying a heavy pot into her lodge. Sergeant Ordway stated that he had passed her later in the village plaza.

  “She did not look happy,” he said.

  The hair on the back of Pierre’s neck stood on end. Was she ill? Was she married? “What exactly do you mean?”

  Ordway shrugged. “Worried, I suppose... I’m not certain. Just...unhappy.”

  “Did you speak to her?” Pierre asked. “Did you see her uncle?”

  “I did not speak to her,” Ordway said. “I didn’t dare. That uncle of hers looks as though he’d scalp any man who did.”

  “He watches her like a hawk,” Cruzette added, “and so does the medicine man. I saw him talking with her uncle. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, of course, let alone understand it, but the medicine man was definitely eyeing her.”

  Pierre had yet to meet this medicine man formally, although he knew him to be somewhat older, with gray streaks in his long, dark hair. Whether that made him beyond marital interest, he did not know. Either way, he didn’t like the thought of any man eyeing her.

  When an invitation was made by Chief Black Cat to visit again the following day, both captains declined the request. Pierre, however, and one of the privates asked to represent the fort. The request was granted, although Lewis seemed hesitant about saying yes where Pierre was concerned.

  “I expect your immediate return when the festivities are concluded,” the captain said.

  “Yes, sir,” Pierre replied. He did not actually intend to stay in the village for very long, only long enough to see her, speak with her if the opportunity presented itself. He just wanted to be certain she was alright.

  “What are they celebrating tonight?” Pierre asked his comrade as they started off through the snow.

  “Not sure exactly. Apparently this gathering is different, some sort of medicine dance.”

  Pierre inwardly groaned. Dancing. He had no interest in that. The last time he had done so only caused him trouble.

  “It could be amusing,” the private suggested.

  “I think I’ll just wander about,” Pierre said.

  “Suit yourself.”

  They parted at the main lodge. As his fellow expedition member disappeared inside, Pierre tried to remember exactly which dwelling was Claire’s. The gathering darkness made the task more difficult, and he could not seek help because the village was deserted. Apparently most inhabitants were gathering for the medicine dance.

  The sound of drum beats echoed in his ears. He wondered if he should return to the main lodge. Would he find her there? He didn’t think so, unless of course she had been forced to go. It was a medicine dance, after all, which as far as he understood would mean customs and practices contrary to the Christian faith.

  A chanting cry was rising from the location. It was not quite a cheer, not quite a wail, but the eerie sound prickled his skin. Pressing on, he at last he found the lodge, or at least, the one he thought was hers. Now what? he thought. When he had come to the village before, he had either waited outside or been escorted in by a member of the tribe. But Claire doesn’t know I am here, so she isn’t going to come out to greet me, and he didn’t think entering on his own would be proper.

  He couldn’t call for her, either. She’d never have been able to hear him over the drums. They were growing louder by the moment. As he stood there trying to decide what to do next, a child popped out of the entryway. His dark eyes widened at the sight of a white man, but then he grinned. Evidently he recognized Pierre, for Pierre had recognized him. It was Spotted Eagle.

  “Is Bright Star here?” he asked in halting Mandan.

  The boy grinned once more and waved, wanting him to follow. Pierre stepped inside the lodge to find Claire tending a comfortable fire. She was once again dressed in buffalo skin, and her long, dark hair was parted down the middle and plaited. Evening Sky was seated by the fire, surrounded by children. On her lap looked to be a small Bible.

  Startled, everyone paused to look at him. When Claire discovered him, she gasped. Pierre wasn’t certain if it was a sound of surprise or fright.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I came to inquire of your safety,” he said.

  The look that came over her face then told him she was pleased to see him, although apprehension lingered. “I thank you for that,” she said as she slowly came toward him. That guarded expression was in her eyes. Still they were captivating. “But you need not worry. I am well. You should go.”

  “Go?”

  Spotted Eagle came up beside her. “Does he not, either?” Pierre thought he understood him to say.

  Claire looked at the boy. Her face softened as it always did whenever she spoke to a child. “No, he does not,” she said.

  “I don’t what?” Pierre asked curiously.

  “Dance in an attempt to call the buffalo. The ceremony tonight is an effort to bring them near and to impart hunting powers to the warriors.”

  “I see.”

  “Spotted Eagle and the others wanted to know why my mother and I did not dance for the warriors,” Claire said. “I told him it was because we pray to the Creator, that we trust him to provide food and other necessities for the tribe.” The drumming suddenly stopped. Her look of apprehension grew. “You should go before my uncle sees you. He may think there is something improper.”

  Pierre wondered how he could think that, especially when her mother and the handful of children were with them, but he wouldn’t argue with her reasoning. Still, he had to be sure of her safety before he left the village. “Are you certain you are alright?” he asked. “You’re uncle hasn’t forced you into marri
age?”

  “Not yet.”

  It was not a very comforting reply. However, before he could inquire further, a sudden gust of cold wind swept through the lodge. The fire sputtered. Pierre turned to find Running Wolf standing in the entryway, his arms crossed over his chest. He was most definitely angry.

  * * *

  Claire drew in a shallow, shaky breath at her uncle’s arrival. She had not expected him to arrive so soon. Neither had Spotted Eagle. He hurried to greet him.

  “Grandfather, Bright Star says our dance does not call the buffalo, that they are instead under command of the Great Spirit’s son, Jesus, and that we must ask Him to send them to our village.”

  The comment was made innocently enough. Spotted Eagle was a young, inquisitive boy. Presented with two paths, he was trying to decipher which of them was the true one to travel. Running Wolf’s face, however, flashed with anger.

  “He asked why I did not dance, uncle,” Claire hurriedly tried to explain. “I simply told him.”

  Ignoring his grandson, Running Wolf advanced toward her. Like an honorable gentleman, Pierre immediately stepped in front of her, attempting to shield her from the tirade her uncle was surely about to display.

  He had no idea what he was doing. Though she appreciated his gallantry, his actions were only making them look guiltier, as if she had invited him here to preach with her to her family. He planted his feet. Part of her rejoiced at his willingness to come to her aid. The other feared just what his actions would provoke.

  She touched his arm. “Please,” she said, “it would be better for you if you do not interfere.”

  “I am not concerned for myself,” he said.

  Contrary to what she thought, Running Wolf had no desire to speak with either of them. He pushed past them both and snatched the Bible from Evening Sky. Having captured it, he then turned and kicked over the cooking pot at the edge of the fire ring. Boiling corn spilled everywhere. The children, wide-eyed with incredulity, scooted back from his path.

  “You,” he said, glaring at Evening Sky. “You condemn our ancestors’ rituals, and yet you encourage your daughter to engage in her own?”