Frontier Agreement. Shannon Farrington

a quick curtsy she then stepped back inside, shut the door solidly in front of him. For some strange reason he continued to stare at it. An odd feeling of intrigue and discomfort flittered through him.

      He marched to his officers’ quarters. With this change of plans, perhaps Captain Lewis might now allow him to join Captain Clark’s hunting party. To Pierre’s disappointment, however, Clark had already departed the fort. Lewis sent him instead to split wood on the parade ground. Working within sight of Mademoiselle Manette’s door did little to clear her from his mind.

      * * *

      “You should have let him come in,” Evening Sky whispered from beneath the buffalo skins. “He has tasks to complete.”

      Claire laid the parchments on the desk and stirred the small fire. “I told him I would work on what I could. He did not insist on being present.”

      “He is a kind gentleman.”

      “Yes. I think so.”

      “I’m pleased you are letting go of your fear. Not all white men are like Mr. Granger.”

      Claire nodded slowly as she studied her mother’s face in the candlelight. Her coloring did not look good. This is more than the strain of last night, she thought.

      “Shall I make you some tea?” Claire offered. “Something to ward off the chill?”

      Evening Sky shook her head. “No, Bright Star. Not today.” She grimaced. The expression was almost imperceptible, but Claire recognized pain when she saw it.

      “Where does it hurt, mother? Your legs?”

      “No, child.”

      “Your loins?”

      Evening Sky simply closed her eyes.

      “The Frenchman offered to ask for a remedy from his captain. Shall I fetch him?”

      “No, child. Do not bother the men.” Evening Sky shifted beneath the skins, turned toward the wall. Claire understood the movement. It was a sign that her mother did not want to be questioned further. Claire would honor her wish, but she wasn’t the least bit happy about doing so.

      If I do not know exactly what is wrong, then how can I help her?

      Whispering a prayer, she then went to the desk. She unrolled Mr. Lafayette’s parchments and, after studying them for a few moments, wrote down a few more phrases of friendship and some words that would be useful in trade.

      Trade. Her heart squeezed. She remembered all too vividly what Running Wolf had wished to trade last night. How could he? she thought. He is my uncle. My mother’s brother. My own flesh and blood. Being given in marriage to a fellow tribesman was bad enough, but at least she could understand his reasoning. That was the way things were done here in the wilderness, and it was an arrangement that would benefit the tribe. She might not like it. She might seek to change it, but for now that was how it was done.

      In a land of war, one way to assure the continued existence of the tribe was by begetting new families. But to offer me to strangers, to men whose customs are so different from his own...? Did he think she would be happier bound to a white man, or did he simply wish to be rid of her? Had her curious ways, her faith, been a thorn in his flesh for too long?

      She could feel the tears pooling in her eyes but quickly steeled her resolve. There was no point thinking such things. She was safe for now. There was still time to find a Christian husband. God could do mighty things. As much as she feared being bound to a man to whom she was not well-suited, she was not against marriage. What would it be like to know love, to share a deep, abiding commitment, to experience the joy her parents had once had? What would it be like to be held tightly on cold, dark nights, have words of endearment whispered in her ear?

      But I will live without such things if it means being asked to marry a man who does not serve God.

      Claire cast a glance in Evening Sky’s direction. She was now sleeping peacefully. Claire returned to her parchments and tried to focus on the task at hand.

      Outside someone was chopping wood. Claire scratched her list in time with the rhythmic thwacking of the ax. Morning moved toward noon. There was no window in her hut, no way to mark the sun’s advance across the sky, but Claire could estimate the time by the sounds. She could hear the second changing of the guard.

      She kept on writing. The captains wished to learn about the Mandan’s religious beliefs, so Claire gave an account of their beliefs on creation, the great flood and the story of the Lone Man. Her heart grew heavier with each paragraph, considerably as she listed out the details of the Okipa ceremony.

      She had never actually seen the ceremony take place, for women were not allowed to view it, but she had witnessed the effects of it when she first arrived in the village. Hoping to gain the Great Spirit’s favor, young warriors were starved and mutilated. The parents of those who did not survive the process bore their shame.

      How different life would be for my people if they could come to understand that God’s favor was not earned through suffering but given by grace... How different my life would be.

      Claire dipped her quill in the ink. Evening Sky continued to sleep but stirred just before the call to supper. Her body was slow to rise, but her coloring had improved.

      “Feeling better?” Claire asked.

      “Yes.” Evening Sky then said she thought she might take a little nourishment.

      “I’ll make you some tea and there are corn cakes keeping warm by the fire.”

      Evening Sky nodded.

      Claire brought her one of the cakes and then prepared the tea. It didn’t take long to warm the snow water and steep the herbs over the fire. As Claire brought the cup to her mother, the bugle sounded.

      “Thank you, Bright Star,” she said. “Now go. Take your own meal at the big fire. I’ll be alright. I need nothing more.”

      Claire had smelled the camp food cooking for more than an hour. She was hungry for more than corn cakes indeed but did not wish to leave her mother unattended.

      Thankfully she did not have to, for a knock sounded upon the door. Claire opened it to find Mr. Lafayette standing at the threshold. He’d come bearing bread, venison stew and chicory coffee.

      “I know you said you were not hungry earlier, but I couldn’t let you miss out on a feast such as this,” he said. When he smiled, Claire suddenly found herself wondering what he would look like without the beard. She imagined him quite handsome, in a polished, gentlemanly way.