by Karen Kay
“On this I must be firm. They simply will not do.”
He paused. “Yes, Your Highness. Well, if you would only be willing to wait a few days, I’m sure I could—”
“I cannot wait, Governor. As you might understand, my mission is somewhat timely, and it is imperative that I leave on this boat, as there is no assurance there will be another one for some time.”
“But a few days will not matter in the least. I could procure some men and you could rejoin the ship somewhere a little farther north. You see, once the Missouri River is forded, the steamers tie up each night, since it is too dangerous to navigate all the snags and such in the dark. You would have ample time to catch up.”
“Thank you, but no, that will not do, either. I have too much luggage to cart with me and I am unused to traveling on anything less than a well-driven road, or a river, as the case might be.”
The governor frowned. “Well, this does present a problem. You are entirely certain that the Indian I originally hired, High Wolf, will not accompany you?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am.”
“How strange,” said Clark. “He may be Indian, but he is a very educated man and has worked for me on this sort of excursion before. I wonder why he’s refusing now?”
“Perhaps he had a dream.”
“A dream?” Governor Clark paused and stared at the princess as though she might have suddenly grown scales. He asked, “How do you know about an Indian’s dreams?”
The princess blushed. “I…I have some knowledge of the Indian tribes myself. You see, I once knew a man who had been brought to the Continent with a friend—and that man was American Indian. He used to speak to us of many things. And I know that if a man has a bad dream about a particular journey, he will not feel compelled to continue that expedition, and he is never thought of badly for quitting it altogether.”
“Yes,” said the governor. “Yes, that is true. Although I must admit that it seems strange to hear knowledge about these things from a member of the royalty, someone so removed from these cultural taboos. A man, you say, who was brought to the Continent? That sounds exceedingly familiar, as this is what happened to High Wolf.”
“Is it? How strange.”
“Yes, yes. But I don’t understand this urgency. Let me be very clear on a subject of some delicacy, Your Highness, if you would be so kind as to permit me.”
“Do not think to spare me, sir, for I assure you, we should speak frankly to one another.”
Governor Clark nodded. With care, he cleared his throat before continuing, “Your Highness, I have made inquiries into the matter of your late husband, and I can assure you that there is nothing remiss in the report which was sent you and your parents. The prince was killed by a wandering band of Sioux Indians. There were several trappers who saw it, as well as a few members of a Crow party who survived the attack. He was traveling with these Crow Indians as well as the trappers. And all of these men confirm that they saw him fall.”
The princess stiffened. “And did they bury him?”
“I would assume so.”
“Good, then they can show me the grave, for I will not be satisfied until I see it.”
Governor Clark shook his head. “You must have loved him dearly to have come this far and to be so persistent.”
The princess cast her gaze down, and with a hand over her mouth, coughed before she admitted, “It is true that my feelings for my husband are very strong, indeed.”
Governor Clark reached out and patted her arm. “I understand. Be assured that I will make the necessary inquiries for a guide with all possible speed.”
“Yes, please, Mr. Clark, please do so at your earliest convenience. And if you do manage to find such a person, send him to me at once. In the meanwhile, I am prepared to leave when the Diana lifts anchor. If you have obtained no one by then, but you do so later, please send him after me with a letter, that I might know him.”
“Yes, Your Highness. That I will.”
The princess smiled, the gesture warm and friendly when compared to the smirks she had given High Wolf earlier this day. And yet, High Wolf noted, there was still little joy to be found in her expression.
But if Governor Clark noticed these little nuances, he must have overlooked them, for after a time, he said, “And now I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?”
The governor grinned. “I have a feast planned for you and your company—a gesture of goodwill—before you leave our humble village.”
The princess smiled once again, a mirror of her earlier gesture. In due course, she said, “That would be splendid, Governor. Simply splendid.”
Except for the crickets’ serenade, the puffing of the engine’s two blackened smokestacks, and the occasional squawk of a hawk, all was silent on the river. The boat still lay in anchor, but was in readiness to leave.
Would she ever see him again?
The thought was quite involuntary. Nonetheless, a sort of melancholy had overtaken her, and she could only imagine the cause being that she had counted on obtaining High Wolf’s help. Of course, there had been some doubt about his cooperation, but she had been fairly certain that her reminder of his promise would have swayed him to her cause.
After all, until that very last day, he had never denied her anything.
The princess raised her chin at an angle, looking every bit the regal monarch, as she realized quite sadly how much she didn’t know or understand him.
Shaking her head, she sighed softly while the Diana slowly pulled away from the dock. And high atop the boat’s upper deck, Princess Sierra watched as the shoreline crept farther and farther away. Tediously, and quite without her will, a tear streamed down her face, but it was not from the sadness in her heart, she thought, as much as it was from the wind, which was stinging her eyes.
She gazed outward. In the distance, and to the west, the sun was announcing its departure from the day in pinkish red and golden hues, the dimness of the light blurring the shoreline so that her ability to distinguish figures was greatly hampered. She blinked in quick succession, placing a hand on her forehead as though the pose might give her better vision. Leaning forward against the ship’s wooden railing, she stared, hoping for a final glimpse of him.
But it was not to be. Indeed, she had fairly well believed that he would not be there. He was, by now, probably a good distance from the village of St. Louis. In truth, remembering his reaction, as well as his cutting words to her, she decided that he had probably set out upon a journey away from her with all possible speed.
He hated her.
The thought came to her again out of nowhere, and Princess Sierra silently scolded herself. Why could she not stop remembering that, or what had prompted it? Or better yet, why could she not put the entire meeting with him behind her?
It wasn’t as if she had to worry about him liking or disliking her. He had made it abundantly clear what he thought of her.
Nevertheless, it did bother her.
Why?
Because he had once loved her?
She took in a quick breath. Supposedly, it was as Father Junipero had once said: High Wolf simply didn’t care about her. Perhaps High Wolf’s motive, all those years ago, had been selfish, taking only his own interests into account, and not those of her or her people.
For better or for worse, it was certainly what she had come to believe.
High Wolf had been mercenary, as well. Although if that were true, he had certainly chosen an odd lifestyle to show it.
She frowned, and placing her fingers over her forehead, she rubbed at it. Why did remembering these things make it so difficult to think clearly?
Well, of one thing she was certain: She had done nothing to him. Nothing whatsoever. Nothing to regret.
Still, she sighed. As eager as she certainly was to seek revenge on the prince, she had felt equally justified in including High Wolf in that same category. Odd how, since her arrival, she now felt on the defensive, as tho
ugh she should explain herself to him.
It was strange, too, the way she had reacted to the sight of High Wolf, for her pulse had accelerated and she had definitely felt her lifeblood stirring, as though she hadn’t been living these past few years, merely surviving. Perhaps, she thought, there were some awarenesses of life that never died, despite the travails of a love affair gone wrong.
“May I be of any service to you, Your Highness?”
Sierra turned her head toward that voice, bestowing her maid with a smile. She said, “No, Maria, although perhaps you could turn down the bed. I do plan to retire soon.”
“Yes, Your Highness. It is a pretty sight, isn’t it? The dusk, the sunset. How glad I am that you asked me to accompany you.”
“Are you, Maria? You don’t curse me for taking you away from the Continent? Away from your home in England?”
“Not at all, Your Highness. It has been many years since I was in England. Your home, I think, is now my own. Besides, one is seldom offered an opportunity to experience such an adventure as this. Think of it. You and I might be the first white females ever to see this West.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I do. After all, look around you. ’Tis only men who staff these boats. ’Tis only men that we saw on the docks, men in the town, men on the outskirts of town. I would like to think of myself as a female adventurer. And Princess, you have given me the chance.”
“What a wonderful thing to say, Maria. Even if you are only trying to set my mind at ease.”
“But I do mean it.”
“Thank you.”
The two women fell silent then, until at last Maria ventured, “Was it difficult to see him again?”
“Him?” asked Sierra.
But Maria didn’t answer, merely sent her mistress a look.
And letting out her breath, Sierra glanced away. “Yes,” she admitted. “It was quite wearisome.”
“I should think so,” said Maria. “Has he changed much?”
“Not much,” said Sierra, “except that he hates me.”
“He? Hates you? By what right?”
“I don’t know, Maria. I honestly do not know. Though I must admit I, too, found it rather shocking that he should feel so. Worse, however, is our present predicament. For we have no one to guide us.”
“Yes,” said Maria. “That is most unfortunate. Tell, me, do you have an idea where we should go? Where we might begin our search for the prince?”
Sierra shrugged. “A little. There is a fort I am told that is deep in Crow country. Perhaps we might start there.”
Maria nodded.
“Maria, please, would you see if you can find Mr. Dominic and ask him to come to me? I know he has been reading as much as he can on subjects regarding the Indians and the West. Perhaps he might be able to help me plan our next step on our quest.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” said Maria, “that is a very good idea. I will leave at once to find him.” And curtsying, she sped away to do as bid.
The twilight of dusk was finally settling down as the boat chugged its way into the deepest part of the river. It was slow going, and yet a breeze tugged at the tendrils of Sierra’s hair.
She turned her face into that wind, bewailing her present situation.
Was he watching her, she wondered, even now as the ship pulled away? And if he were, did he, too, feel this gloomy sort of ache?
Probably not, she determined. After all, he had his hatred for her as a cold bedfellow. And if she were to be honest, so did she…
Divested of his clothing, except for a breechcloth, moccasins and his weapons, High Wolf basked in the retiring rays of the sunset. A scout traveled lightly, and with no more than his parfleche bag over his shoulder, High Wolf hid himself within the panorama of nature, invisible to even the most discerning eye.
He watched as the steamboat pulled out of port. He even surveyed the princess as she leaned against the upper deck of the boat, and despite himself, his heart fluttered in his chest.
She looked like some distant cameo, so beautiful, but so completely out of place, here in his home. And yet…Hadn’t he dreamed of her coming here? Hadn’t he wished it too many times to even count?
He supposed he was afraid of her in a way, and rightly so. If she had ruined his life so thoroughly in the past, what was she capable of doing now? Now, when they both were of an age to understand the physical allure of attraction?
Nevertheless, despite his misgivings, his purpose had at once been determined as soon as he had heard that she planned to seek the truth concerning the prince. It was interesting to think that both of their minds had been of the same set, neither of them believing the report of his death. One would almost think that both she and he were still very much attuned to one another’s thoughts.
But of course they weren’t.
However, her love for the prince must be very great, he thought, if she were this determined to discover his whereabouts.
Oh, if only she had ventured as much for him ten years ago. But, he reminded himself, he must not dwell on the past, for it was clear to him now that she had loved both of the men in her life at that time. What he hadn’t realized was that she had been physically attracted to the prince.
Strange that he had never observed it in either her or the prince. But perhaps that sort of physical love hadn’t materialized until after the marriage. After all, nearness was said to breed bodily love. Even his mother had once ventured to say as much.
High Wolf swallowed, hard. These thoughts would never do. More than anything, they troubled him further.
Shifting his weight, he surveyed the steamboat closely to determine its speed before he endeavored to set out his own trail. He would steer his path as close to the shoreline as he dared, so that he might keep a constant eye on that vessel. For yes, High Wolf would help her. But he would not go near her again.
This he vowed to himself.
Chapter 8
“’Tis said she howled at the captain of the guard, and for nothing more than a tavern brawl. ’Tis little wonder that the prince stays away…”
“Aye. And ’tis rumored this is what started the war…”
Gossip between servants at
Prince Alathom’s castle
It was high noon and the sun, bright on this warm day in June, beat down its heat upon the top of her bonnet, warming her head unnecessarily. The scent of smoke from the steamboat’s engine filled Princess Sierra’s lungs as she hung over the upper railing of the boat. Beside her, and secured to the deck with ropes, sat a white wooden lifeboat, looking as though it were in readiness to attend to any emergency. Glancing downward, she espied the churning water from the Diana’s sidewheel, the noise from the wheel, as well as the spray of water attendant to it, having long ago become commonplace. She said, “I am told that the Missouri has been aptly called a river of sticks by Mr. George Catlin.”
“Yes, I believe it has, Your Highness,” said Mr. Dominic.
She paused. “It’s quite easy to see why,” she observed, strolling forward, along the deck and toward the bow of the ship. Once there, however, she paused to look ahead and down, staring out into the wild, seething and cloudy waters of the Missouri River, where there was nothing to be seen but one constant stream of current and obstacles, the hindrances composed mostly of tree limbs.
She stirred uneasily. Not even an eddy or a calm pool was to be found in any part of the river; nor was there anyplace where a vessel could rest or take leave of the unending flow, if only for a moment. With a sweeping gesture of her hand out in front of her, she continued, “Our journey was smooth and somewhat of a more pleasant nature until we reached the Missouri, but now it has become more difficult and, I must admit, more frightening.”
“Yes, Your Highness, it has.”
“Sometimes I wonder about our safety aboard this ship.”
“One can understand that, Your Highness,” said Mr. Dominic, her steward, as he followed her and stood to her left, tho
ugh slightly behind her. “But be that as it may, these steamboats have travelled this river on several other trips and have made the journey to the various trading posts unharmed. Perhaps there have been a few incidents that I have read of, but none of a serious nature.”
“Yes,” she said. “Please refresh my memory, if you would, Mr. Dominic, and tell me when was it that Mr. Catlin made a similar journey to ours?”
“It was in 1832,” said Dominic, “and he was a passenger aboard the first steamboat, the Yellow Stone, which made the journey all the way up the Missouri to Fort Union.”
“Ah, yes, so it was. And where is this Fort Union, to be exact?”
“According to Mr. Catlin and our captain’s statement, it is at the headwaters of the Yellow Stone River and the Missouri, very deeply situated in Indian country in the north.”
“I see. And now, the most important question, Mr. Dominic: Do you think we’ll find Prince Alathom there?”
“I cannot venture to speculate on that, Your Highness. But it is there where we will have a better chance of determining what we should do next. From what Governor Clark told you, it appears as if the prince was travelling with a band of Crow Indians, which means those Indians may have knowledge of him. And in Mr. Catlin’s notes, he makes mention that he met Crow Indians at this fort.”
Princess Sierra breathed in deeply, while she dabbed at a patch of perspiration on her brow. “Yes, Mr. Dominic. I only wish I knew these tribes a little better than I do. How are we ever to gain their confidence, in order to determine if they have knowledge of the prince? How are we even to communicate to them?”
“Perhaps we might hire someone at the fort to do it for us.”
“Yes, perhaps.” A light breeze, carrying a spray of mist, flew into her face, causing the princess to hold up her parasol, opening it wide. From this position, at the bow of the boat, the effects of the sun were not as persistently felt. Nonetheless, it did little to allay the effects of the heat. She said, “Perhaps we should retire to our quarters where we may read over that map which was given to us by Governor Clark.”