Frontier Agreement. Shannon Farrington
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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 soon arrive, and he would be expecting his drink.
Running Wolf came into the lodge just as the tea had finished steeping. He sat down on his pile of skins. Claire brought the steaming liquid to him.
“Your tea, uncle,” she said.
After he had accepted it, Claire started to move back. However, he motioned for her to stay. After taking a long draft of the tea, he then spoke. “You spoke words to the white hunter and the angry white chief then looked pleased. What did you say ?”
She told him about the misunderstanding with the meat. Running Wolf frowned slightly.
“Mandans take no more meat than needed. Did you tell all the white men this?”
Evening Sky looked up from her work. “She has an opportunity to tell them that and more, brother.”
“How?”
Claire’s mother then told him of the request from Captain Lewis. Running Wolf gathered his knees to his broad chest and thought for a moment, then said, “If the white chief with the three-corner hat wishes for it, then she must obey. The white chief has great power. Perhaps he is willing to share that power with the Mandan.”
“He will send his messenger for her in the morning,” Evening Sky said.
Running Wolf nodded. “Then it is decided.”
Decided? Claire looked at her mother, then her uncle and then back at her mother again. She knew why Running Wolf was eager to send her, but why her mother? She’d told Mr. Lafayette she’d pray about this. She hadn’t even had the opportunity to do so yet. The American captains appeared to be honorable men in search of peace, but what if they were not?
She wanted to protest the decision being made for her when she was still unsure—but she knew better than to speak her mind. Running Wolf would see it as a challenge to his authority, and the likelihood of him ever listening to her on spiritual matters thereafter would be nil.
So she held her tongue, but it was hard to do so. Claire moved about the lodge at a busy pace. She stoked the fire. She cleaned the cooking pot. Soon her cousins and the rest of her family would be arriving and it would be time to prepare the evening meal.
Her mother must have recognized her distress, for when Running Wolf finished his tea and left to visit the elders, she said to her, “All will be well, child. The Lord will supply all we need.” With those simple words, she returned to her beading.
There were times when Claire was envious of her mother’s strong faith. She had a prevailing sense of peace, one that had held despite losing her husband, her relocation to such a hard land and their uncertain future.
Such surety must come with age, Claire thought, but she prayed that God would grant her a little of that peace now.
Claire stepped from the lodge the following morning to find Mr. Lafayette waiting for her. The air was so cold that his nose and his cheeks above his black beard were as red as a choke cherry. The beard lifted with the hint of a smile the moment they locked eyes.
“Good morning, Miss Manette,” he said. “Have you come to a decision?”
“I have, Mr. Lafayette,” she said with much more confidence than she actually felt. Was her nervousness due to the fact that she’d actually had little say in coming to this conclusion or the unsettled feeling his smile provoked in her? Her cousin was right. He was a pleasant-looking man. Claire couldn’t deny that. “I will accept your captain’s invitation,” she said.
His smile broadened but quickly faded the moment her uncle stepped from the lodge. Arms crossed, eagle feathers in his hair, Running Wolf nodded curtly to the white man.
Mr. Lafayette responded the same way.
“My uncle will accompany us to the fort,” Claire explained, “to offer his greetings to your captains.”
“As you wish,” Mr. Lafayette said, and with that, he turned in the direction from which he had come. Claire and her uncle silently followed. After leaving the village, the only sounds were the fierce prairie wind and the snow pelting their clothing.
Whatever conversation might have been initiated by the Frenchman was discouraged by Running Wolf’s presence. For that Claire was grateful. It allowed her time to study him. What kind of man is he? Honest and authentic? Sly and deceitful? All she could tell at this point was that he was most likely a good hunter. His feet made no sound. He walked like a Mandan.
They arrived at the fort, where imposing sentinels still stood guard. One word from Mr. Lafayette, however, and Claire and her uncle were allowed to pass. They followed the Frenchman to the captains’ quarters. Once again she waited outside while he announced her arrival.
“These white men have made a small village,”