Fort Mandan
Upper Louisiana Territory
December 1804
Pierre Lafayette cast an eager eye over the vast horizon and sighed contentedly. The air of the Great Plains was cold but fresh. Here, over a thousand miles from home, he could finally breathe.
When Captain Meriwether Lewis and Captain William Clark accepted him as an oarsman for their westward expedition, he’d realized that at long last he had finally become his own man. I was hired because of who I am. Not because of who my father is or what he may be able to do for them.
A strong back, sharp eye and steadiness with a musket were highly valuable skills in the wilderness. At home they had been frowned upon.
The expedition, the Corps of Discovery, was to winter here on the Missouri River, just beyond the Mandan and Hidatsa Indian villages, before continuing on further westward in the spring. Fortifications had been erected around their camp for defense, but so far the local people had proved themselves to be friendly and welcoming.
Turning his eyes in the direction of the villages, Pierre noticed a trio of natives approaching—two women and a small boy. He studied them as they drew near. Visitors to the fort were nothing new. In the past six weeks since the expedition’s arrival, they had received many people. Most were tribal leaders, but there had been a few curious women and children as well. Pierre didn’t recall seeing these particular Indians before, however.
They approached him cautiously. One of the squaws bowed. The other curtsied. Both were dressed in buffalo robes and had long, dark braided hair. The one who had curtsied had vibrant green eyes that showed her to be of mixed blood. Although young, she carried herself with the grace and stature of a seasoned chief’s wife.
Pierre thought her pretty, pretty enough to turn many a man’s head, but he gave her beauty no further thought than that. If the pampered, powdered belles and wealth of New Orleans hadn’t held his interest, he could hardly be captivated by a penniless Indian woman.
He drew in a long breath. His father had wanted him to become a polished gentleman of society, to marry, beget children and one day take the helm of the family shipping business. Pierre had refused. It wasn’t out of disrespect for his father or unwillingness to take responsibility. I am no rogue, and I am willing to work as hard as any other man. But his father’s life had stifled him. He’d longed for a wider scope for his ambitions—a chance to see more of the world before he settled down into just a small patch of it.
On this expedition, he had done so, and he had loved it. This adventure meant more to him than anything life back home could offer. New Orleans was a wonderful place full of culture, cuisine and comfort, but for Pierre, the harsh unknown beckoned. The winding Missouri, the distant mountains, the Pacific Ocean—these were the only siren songs he wanted to heed. Even now, they called to him. Pierre could hardly wait for the ice on the river to thaw so they could once again be on their way.
But today, there is work to be done here...
He refocused his attention on the green-eyed girl. She had come to the fort requesting an audience with Captain Lewis. Evidently the boy had some ailment. In halting English, she tried to explain, “Boy, here...sore...back...”
Pierre tried to make sense of what she was saying. “He has a sore back?” That was a complaint hardly worthy of disturbing the captain. “Perhaps if he rests—”
She shook her head adamantly. “Great pain. Days. See captain. S’il vous plait...”
The if you please caught his attention. “You speak French?”
“Oui.” A smile of relief broke on her lips, but the moment Pierre offered one in return, it disappeared. A guarded expression took its place.
“I am Claire Manette,” she stated formally in French. “I am the daughter of François Manette, a trapper. My mother and I live in this village. I require Captain Lewis’s medical assistance for my cousin’s young son. May I present Little Flower and Spotted Eagle.”
Pierre nodded politely to the Mandan woman as Mademoiselle Manette continued.
“Spotted Eagle has a large abscess on the lower part of his back. I have drained it twice, applied poultices, but to no avail.”
It wasn’t that uncommon to find a French-speaking woman in an Indian village. Europeans had been traveling this part of the Missouri for years, often taking wives from among the native tribes. There was already, in fact, a Frenchman in this particular village, one by the name of Toussaint Charbonneau. He had two young squaws, Otter Woman and Sacagawea.
What is uncommon, Pierre thought, is to find a woman so educated, so obviously refined. Were it not for the buffalo robe and braided hair, Mademoiselle Manette could easily have been conversing in a New Orleans’s ballroom. Pierre suddenly felt the need to exercise his formal manners. “I am Pierre Lafayette,” he said bowing, “at your service.”
Her stoic gaze told him she was hardly impressed. Clearing his throat, he straightened.
“I hoped Captain Lewis might have some sort of medicine,” she said.
The Mandan woman beside her evidently understood “medicine.” She nodded emphatically at the word, and then showed Pierre the sack she was carrying. It was filled with dried corn.
“She is willing to pay,” Mademoiselle Manette said.
While payment in dry goods was always appreciated, Pierre doubted the captain would require all that had been brought. He signaled to the guard on the catwalk above them, then led the women and the boy into the fort. Just as he had predicted, the mademoiselle turned many a soldier’s head. A private on the parade field missed his step for a glance at the guests, and at the forge the blacksmith held his iron suspended above the fire momentarily before returning his attention to his task.
For a moment, the gentleman in Pierre hesitated to leave these women unattended while he sought Captain Lewis, but he told himself that was foolish. The men were disciplined soldiers. A pause, a glance was one thing, but the men would not stray from their duties.
Pierre