understands but cannot speak with ease.”
“I see,” Pierre said once more.
“My mother asked if you were one of the soldiers who helped Spotted Eagle. I told her yes.”
“How is the boy?” Pierre asked.
“Much better, merci. Please express my thanks to Captain Lewis.”
“You can tell him yourself. He asks that you come to the fort and assist us with understanding your language, help us compile a list of words, an explanation of your tribal customs.”
Mother and daughter exchanged glances. “But Sacagawea—” the younger woman then said.
“Evidently there has been some sort of disagreement.”
“Oh.”
There was a long pause. Pierre could clearly see her hesitancy. Did she think the captain would command her service without payment?
“You would be rewarded for your service,” he told her.
Her eyes flashed angrily. “I’ve no need for useless trinkets.”
So vain baubles didn’t appeal to her. He respected that, but he wasn’t about to tell her so. It irritated him that she had so quickly assumed she’d be paid in useless trinkets. What did she think he and the other men were? A pack of scoundrels looking to trick or take advantage of the native tribes? We are here to explore the land, foster good relations between the tribes, promote fair trade for all. “You would have to discuss payment with Captain Lewis,” he said.
Her mother touched her lightly on the sleeve, spoke again to her in Mandan. The cross look on the daughter’s face softened slightly, but her expression toward him remained anything but friendly. “Tomorrow,” Miss Manette then said to him.
“Tomorrow?”
“Please tell Captain Lewis that I will pray about his offer and give you my answer tomorrow.”
Pierre squinted. Pray about it? While he respected her faith, this was hardly a life-or-death decision. What exactly was there to pray about? It was a few days’ work at most. Knowing Charbonneau, he’d come crawling back as soon as he realized the captains could do without him.
“The work is only temporary,” Pierre told her.
“I understand,” she said. “Still...tomorrow.”
Pierre couldn’t help but feel a measure of disappointment, but why, he did not know. He certainly didn’t enjoy conversing with this woman. Was he disappointed in his ability to perform his duties in persuading her to comply? Did he fear his captain would think him a failure if he didn’t bring her to the fort immediately?
Across the way, an Indian, a powerful-looking man with eagle plumes in his hair and arms the size of trees, was staring at Pierre. Who was he? A relative? Did he distrust the men at the fort as much as Mademoiselle Manette obviously did? Is he the cause of her delay? Whoever he was, Pierre instantly recognized he was not one to be trifled with.
“Very well, mademoiselle,” Pierre said. “I shall relay your message to Captain Lewis.” He tipped his cap to her and her mother, then returned to the fort.
* * *
After the meat had been carved and equally distributed among the tribe, Claire and her mother returned to their lodge. A comforting fire was glowing, smoke curling toward the small hole in the center of the roof. Claire was glad for its warmth. Although her mother did not complain, Evening Sky was walking slowly today. The cold made the older woman’s bones ache. Claire helped settle her mother in the spot against the wall, then piled the buffalo skins around her.
They shared this dwelling with twenty other family members—Running Wolf and his wife, their children, their spouses and several grandchildren, as well. It was within these walls that Claire’s Mandan family told their stories, tales of spirits and souls.
Claire loved and respected her aunt and uncle, her cousins and her cousins’ children. She wanted to believe they cared for and respected her, too. After all, Running Wolf had thought enough of her judgment to have her accompany Little Flower to the fort to seek help for Spotted Eagle. He’d even praised her for her ability to communicate effectively with Captain Lewis.
“You speak to a man of powerful medicine,” he’d said, “and he has honored you.”
She breathed a silent sigh at the memory. If she could continue to please him in ways like this, if she could prove that she could contribute to the tribe as an unmarried woman, then perhaps Running Wolf would not be so eager to see her wed.
She’d thanked her uncle for the honor he paid her, but gave credit to where it was ultimately due. “I had nothing to do with Spotted Eagle’s healing. It was my God who made your grandson well. He used Captain Lewis to do it.”
Running Wolf had dismissed her claim of God’s providence with a sniff, just like he did whenever she spoke words from her father’s Bible. To him, the stories of sin and sacrifice, of life resurrected from the grave, were simply fanciful tales, products of a white man’s imagination.
But I know they are true. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son...”
Her uncle, her chief and the warriors of the tribe might be formidable men, but she was determined to be a light in the darkness and pray for their salvation.
Her mother, now settled, reached for the pair of moccasins she was crafting, a gift for Running Wolf.
“You are intrigued by the invitation to work at the fort,” she said knowingly.
Claire drew in a breath. Her mother knew what she was thinking. She always did. Claire was intrigued, but she was not certain she was interested for the right reason. She’d seen today just how quickly a simple misunderstanding over meat could turn into a disaster. Captain Clark had gotten angry. Black Cat was offended and, eyeing them both, Mr. Lafayette had laid his hand on his musket.
It was his response she remembered most vividly. Quick to assume the worst, ready to take action, just like the white men of Illinois. And yet he seemed most relieved when I then explained Black Cat’s true intentions, as though he did not enjoy the possibility of confrontation.
The man was a mystery. A mystery with a charming smile.
He’d offered her the opportunity to help the American captains better understand her people. Would she be able to help? Could she make a difference? She supposed that even if this position provided nothing else, it could certainly be an opportunity to recapture a glimpse of her father’s culture. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it until now. His staring aside, the dark-haired Frenchman spoke to her with courtesy, bowed to her as though he was a Quebec gentleman asking a lady for a dance.
But Mr. Lafayette is no gentleman, she reminded herself, and this is no palatial ballroom. This is the wilderness—cold, barren, hard. This is a place where survival depends upon good hunting and strong bodies. Men here do not pursue women for dancing or concern themselves with matters of courtship.
Taking the pot of snow she had previously collected, Claire placed it on the fire. As it melted, she added herbs for tea. Her uncle would
