by Sadie Conall
The babe had been conceived in a deserted Spanish fort upriver from the Omaha village, where she and Ryder had been reunited after three years apart. She hadn’t told him about the child at first, for it had been nothing more than a thought, a possibility, but when the babe was lost to her Madeleine grieved for it. She had known of its passing when she felt the beginnings of that unwelcome cramping, followed by deep pain. She had been gathering wood and herbs with Harry and the Bannock girls in a strange wood that held no meaning to her, dismayed by that awful wetness between her legs. Yet that heartbreak had been a lesson learned. And to prevent a similar loss, especially with the hard months of travelling ahead of them, each night Madeleine once more took a herb known as stoneseed, which Wannge’e had suggested, for the Shoshone used it as a contraceptive. And although it was early days yet, so far Madeleine hadn’t fallen with another child.
It was Ryder who broke the contact between them, unwillingly, when Wesa'shangke spoke of their leaving for the Hŭŋkpapĥa. Ryder felt his heart lurch at the thought of leaving his son, for Wesa'shangke and Aishi-waahni’ would be taking Harry and the Bannock girls north into some of the most dangerous territory in the country.
He turned back to watch Madeleine gently push Harry’s hair off his forehead where it was inclined to fall forward just like his own and Ryder prayed their separation wouldn’t last longer than two months. For although his relationship with Harry hadn’t yet formed an emotional attachment where the child would miss him, Ryder already felt the loss of the small boy.
He thought suddenly of the bond which Harry and Te’tukhe shared and occasionally, when the Ugákhpa lifted the little boy in his arms or teased him, making Harry laugh, Ryder had felt a tinge of something. Not so much jealousy, for he was not a man who wasted time on such a useless emotion, but perhaps it might be called regret. For all the years wasted with his son.
For the reality was that Harry’s memories of Te’tukhe were stronger than the memories he had of his own father. Te’tukhe had come into Harry’s life in the middle of a storm last October. Ryder had reappeared in Harry’s life in February, almost three years to the day since Jarryth’s men dragged him unconscious from that foul townhouse in Bankside, London. Harry had been a babe, only six months old, with no memory of the man who had loved him so passionately. Ryder’s only consolation was that he had the rest of his life to build a relationship with his son. And he would do whatever it took to make it work.
Poongatse moved to take Harry for a walk, to give Madeleine a rest before they moved on. And as the men stood up to plan their route north through that vast forest which lay ahead of them, Madeleine took advantage of the sudden quiet and lay down, feeling the pressure on her lower back ease a little. She closed her eyes, aware that Wannge’e was looking through their leather bag of herbs, trying to find something to ease her discomfort. When the Bannock girl found several young roots of evening primrose, Madeleine took them with gratitude, for they could be eaten raw and would relieve her pain. She knew Wannge’e would have preferred to light a fire and heat water for a potion, but there was no time for such luxuries. So the evening primrose roots would do for now. Peppery in flavour and easy to chew on, they would help take the edge off that dull ache in her lower back.
When it came time to remount their horses and ride on, as Madeleine lifted Harry back onto her horse, the little boy screamed in frustration, kicking his legs, unwilling to be tied to his mother for another hour or more. Ryder suggested the child ride with him and Harry didn’t dare disagree, moving to sit on his father’s leather saddle as Ryder moved to sit behind him on the horse’s rump, making sure the small boy didn’t fall off. And as Ryder kicked the horse on, he glanced across at Madeleine and saw the relief on her face. She fell in to ride behind them, content to watch the man and boy ahead of her, although she could hardly see Harry as Ryder loomed above him.
Yet that simple gesture made her think how differently this relationship between father and son would be, to the one Ryder had known with Torrance Benedict. For she had seen how Ryder would turn when the boy called, how he was the first to pick Harry up when he cried. Although she was often the one to scold the little boy, Ryder had only to look at Harry for the child to burst into tears, although Ryder was distraught to know he was the cause of it. But Harry was still young, not yet four years old. And the longer he spent in Ryder’s company, the sooner he would come to understand the bond they shared.
She smiled as she listened to Harry talking to Ryder in his high-pitched child’s voice, telling the story of the buffalo and how his Mama came racing towards him on horseback, picking him up by his collar and riding off with him hanging on. Madeleine laughed softly, wondering if Ryder had stopped listening yet, for he had heard this story many times before. And she suddenly longed to see his face.
But in fact, Ryder’s features were rigid with loss, for this story reminded him along with others, that he hadn’t been there to help over the past three years. Especially when the buffalo came.
Two
It was Harry who saw them first. And there was a sense of urgency about my son as he stood up and pointed out across the forest.
“Mama,” he cried.
We all rose quickly from where we had been resting and way in the distance, across the treeline, we could just make out a group of riders on a distant hill. They were at least two miles north of our temporary camp. But we knew they would come. Indeed, we had been waiting for them, although they couldn’t see us because we were deep within the trees, having chosen this high spot as a look out, knowing they must pass this way to get to the ridge.
I had seen them way in the distance, just before we left the ridge. They had been nothing more than a smudge on a distant rolling hill, many miles north of where we were but obviously heading our way. Which gave us a reason to move, to get off the ridge and seek shelter in the trees.
Te’tukhe and Wesa'shangke went and stood beside Ryder as he peered through his spyglass, twisting the canisters to get a clearer view of the men before they disappeared back under cover of the trees.
“Fur trappers. Four of them. And they have two packhorses apiece, each loaded down with furs,” he said, as he passed the spyglass to Wesa'shangke.
I reached for Harry as he made a move to sprint into the trees even as Wannge'e and Poongatse began to pack away the waterskins and smoked meat and chokeberry cakes we had unpacked when we stopped here less than an hour ago. When Wesa'shangke offered me the spyglass I took it and saw for myself that the riders would be here soon enough, for they had only to reach the valley below us and climb the hill, a short ride from where we now stood.
Our temporary camp was only a mile from the ridge, although we had no intention of camping here tonight. It was too exposed and any fire lit would be seen for miles because of its high point in the hills. But Ryder and the men had insisted on staying here to talk to the riders, to see what news they had of the north.
“French probably,” Te’tukhe said, as I passed the spyglass to him. “And they won’t be looking for any trouble from us, not with all those furs, not after the months they would have spent trapping to get them. They’ll be wanting to get south to trade them as soon as they can,” he said, as Aishi-waahni’ reached out to take the spyglass from his brother. He nodded then passed it back to Ryder, who quickly packed it away before turning to Te’tukhe.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
I could feel the men’s tension. Indeed, I could feel it from the girls and my son. And as I looked across at Harry, I knew he was remembering another time when strange men came to our camp. It had begun with him hiding under a wild blackberry bush. It had ended in several dead men and Wannge’e and myself injured.
Te’tukhe nodded before turning to me. “Keep the boy quiet if you can,” he said.
But I didn’t take his words as a threat, for I knew as well as everyone else that if the fur trappers heard a child, they would know that women were nearby. And the men wanted me and the
girls and Harry to remain invisible, along with all our belongings.
I turned to Harry and took his hand before calling Poongatse and Wannge'e away, back into the woods where all the horses waited. And Harry came with me willingly enough, even as he glanced back at the men, aware of their unease.
We saw Ryder and Te’tukhe mount their horses and kick them forward down the slope to meet the fur trappers, followed by Wesa'shangke and Aishi-waahni’. Although they would remain hidden within the trees, backup to Ryder and Te’tukhe, their muskets ready in case there was trouble. Although like me and the girls, the men also carried a bow and sheath of arrows on their backs, traded with the Omaha and used to hunt, to save shot and powder.
I turned back to Harry and the girls. The plan was that I stay with them, along with the horses. But as I stood there hiding within the trees, my bow in my hand, I felt an urgency to be with the men so turned to my son and the girls and put a finger to my lips urging them to keep their silence, then I stepped away and moved quietly into the woods. My moccasins hardly made a noise as I stepped over dead branches and leaves, as I weaved my way around trees and shrubs, but I was used to moving with stealth and silence in woods, from my days of living alone with esa. Being silent had ensured my survival during those years we lived alone in the mountains and as I made my way down the slope, jumping across a narrow channel of water full of debris, the water leaching out from some underground stream, I thought the woods here dense and full of shadows, for the elms, chestnuts, oaks and hickory grew tall and thick, blocking out light on the forest floor.
I remained out of sight of Wesa'shangke who was riding just ahead of me and I looked beyond him to try and see Ryder and Te’tukhe, but the trees were too dense. And then I heard a man call out in French. It was a cry of welcome, but I also heard the unmistakeable fear in his voice. And then the snort and whinny of a horse and I knew the fur trappers had come.
*
The smell of them made me gag. Unwashed bodies and clothes, these men had obviously been living rough in the wild for some time. Desperate to see them for myself, I sprinted under cover behind some tall shrubs and ferns and came out on a slight elevation. Now Wesa'shangke was off to my right, but I was invisible to him. I could hear men speaking rapidly in French, their voices rough and again that nervous timbre to their speech as they spoke in jest of women and whisky.
I caught the rich scent of horses along with the musky scent of men and I squatted low, pulling an arrow from the sheath on my back and putting it to my bow just as Ryder and Te’tukhe reined their horses in just in front of the men. I had a clear view of them now. Four of them, with packhorses behind them laden with furs. And as I watched them, I felt nothing sinister about them. They were just trappers, eager to ride south and trade their furs, although they were a rough unshaven bunch, their clothes worn and travel stained. They carried muskets, horse pistols and knives, yet all were sheathed, unlike Ryder and Te’tukhe who sat astride their mounts with their muskets held with intent, balanced on their thighs. But again, I felt no sense of animosity from these men. Indeed, I saw fear cross their faces as Ryder and Te’tukhe effectively barred their way up the deer trail towards the ridge. But the two Ugákhpa were formidable looking men, not least because of Ryder’s size and Te’tukhe’s facial tattoos.
Two of the men were obviously French-Canadian. The other was Spanish and the third man was a halfblood. They were dressed as we were, in hardwearing buckskin pants and shirts and all wore thick buffalo robes and fur boots which reached to their knees. They also wore thick fur mittens on their hands, roughly sewn with sinew, which suggested they had been living in colder temperatures than here, possibly as far north as Lower Canada. All of them wore fur hats and like the mittens, they had been roughly sewn together with sinew.
The man in front continued to speak rapidly in French before nodding towards the muskets balanced on Ryder and Te’tukhe’s hips. “You can lower your weapon messieurs, we offer no threat to you. We come from the north and hope to get some way across the ridge while the light of day is still upon us. We head for St Louis, to trade our furs and sample its delights before heading back to Lower Canada,” he paused as Ryder and Te’tukhe lowered their muskets, but turned in fear when Wesa'shangke and Aishi-waahni’ kicked their horses out from under the trees, their own muskets held low, although the threat they posed was real enough.
The front man raised his hands, as he nodded towards Wesa'shangke and Aishi-waahni’. “Again messieurs, we offer no threat to you,” he watched as the Ugákhpa and Comanche put away their muskets and only then did he lower his hands. He glanced back at his companions, who rode up beside him.
I watched as the Spaniard nodded towards Ryder and his Ugákhpa brothers and Aishi-waahni’, acknowledging them. “We’ve heard rumours that the Americans now claim this territory as their own, that it’s been lost to the French and Spanish,” he said, speaking in French. “Indeed, if you’ve come from St Louis what news have you of this, messieurs?”
I heard Ryder tell them of the Louisiana Purchase, of the deal done between France’s Napoleon Bonaparte and America’s Thomas Jefferson. He spoke of the Spanish and French authorities slowly leaving the territory as the Americans began to move in and I saw the fur trappers’ astonishment at this news.
“We’ve been trapping in the north just below the borders of Lower Canada for over a year,” the halfblood said, also speaking in French. “But we heard not a week ago that the pox is travelling up the Missouri. Do you know anything of this?”
I felt the sudden tension between the men and my own breath caught in my throat at this news.
Ryder shook his head. “We wintered over with the Omaha on the Missouri and heard nothing about the pox. What say you, monsieur? Who told you this grim news?”
The halfblood leaned forward in his saddle. He was a striking looking man, with sharp features and a strong jaw. He wore little jewellery except for silver and shell piercings in his ears. “Some trappers coming up from St Louis reckon it’s on its way upriver. We were hoping it’s a falsehood for as you know we’re heading that way,” he paused as Ryder shook his head in denial.
“Well,” he said, glancing at the men beside him. “I reckon we’ll take the chance and carry on south, although it’s likely to be our last trip to St Louis. I reckon we’ll do business with the Hudson Bay outfit next year, although we heard another fur company is aiming to come trade in this territory. You heard of them? Call themselves North-West. We’d be mighty appreciative to meet them and trade our furs, for it would save us a lot of time and trouble instead of having to ride on down to St Louis, especially if the pox is coming up river.”
Te’tukhe shook his head. “I haven’t been trapping this far north for almost a year, so if the North-West Company is working in these parts, I haven’t heard of them.”
The first man shrugged, the French-Canadian, before turning to the halfblood. “I doubt they’d have what we want anyway, so no point even thinking on it,” he said, before turning back to Te’tukhe. “Where’re you folk heading anyways?”
“To the Lakota, but first we stop over at the Mandan,” Ryder answered.
The Spaniard whistled softly between his teeth, two of which were missing in the front. “The Mandan you say? Then be careful Messieurs. Our friend here is Assiniboine and he’ll tell you what he told us,” he turned and nodded towards the halfblood who glanced over in my direction, as if he knew I was there. I took a step back into the brush.
“They’re on the brink of war with the Arikara according to my Assiniboine brothers,” he said, looking back at Ryder. “So be wary of these people Messieurs, you don’t want to cross either of them, especially as the Mandan lost so many from the pox last year when it swept up the Missouri and Mississippi. Although if you’ve got something to trade the Mandan will welcome you well enough, like they did with some Europeans who just wintered over there. The Assiniboine said they built a fort just south of the Mandan village.”
I c
rouched low in the brush, wondering if this could be the Lewis and Clark Expedition. Would they be this far north already?
“If you have a care to stay away from Mandan and Arikara, we know a trading post where you can go and do business instead,” one of the French-Canadian’s said. “Built by a man who goes by the name Juan Baptiste Munier. You can’t miss it if you continue north. Just follow the Missouri until it meets up with the Niobrara. You’ll find his cabin right there and he’s honest enough. Been there some twenty years, so the local people trust him well enough. Although you might hear someone speak of the large Ponca village that used to be up that way. Held close to a thousand people but just after Munier arrived, they lost some six hundred to the pox. You’ll find about two hundred living there now. Some say Munier took the pox with him when he first arrived, but he reckons not. But like I said, his trading post is on your way north if you have a care to avoid the Mandan and Arikara. And the Pawnee for that matter, for they were giving hell a while back. They can be mean critters, the Pawnee.”
Te’tukhe nodded towards the furs packed down on the men’s packhorses. “Why don’t you trade your furs with Munier?” he asked, curious.
The first man laughed. “Because Munier aint got what we want. And St Louis got gold, liquor and whores.”
The fur trappers laughed and Ryder and Te’tukhe thanked them as they pulled their horses aside, allowing the men access up the deer trail towards the ridge. The fur trappers bid farewell and rode off as Ryder and his brothers and the Comanche closed in behind them, giving me time to turn and run back the way I had come, sprinting uphill through the trees, eager to reach the girls and my son. And as I came to the top of the hill, aware of Ryder and the others pushing their horses up the trail to the left of me, the animals snorting and blowing from the effort, I turned in time to see the fur trappers kick their horses up the slight rise and then ride out onto the ridge.