The Fur Trader’s Lady (Ladies of the Wilderness #1)

6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

T he revelry in camp was louder than usual as Calum and Reid sat near their campfire that evening after supper, while Charlotte rested in the tent. Eight Indian women had been brought to the camp by their spouses and given to the visiting voyageurs as a gift for the night. Several men had already gone off into the woods to take their pleasure and returned, just to hand the woman off to the next man waiting in line. It was a custom that did not sit well with Reid, but he could not stop his men from taking part. Indian men considered it a sign of welcome to the voyageurs to offer their women in this way, and the women willingly obliged, growing angry if their spouse did not make the offer.

An especially obliging woman laughed nearby, drawing Reid’s and Calum’s attention. She smiled at them, an invitation in her eyes. It was considered a high honor to be welcomed into the officers’ tents.

Calum tapped his pipe into his palm and stood, impatiently pacing on the other side of Reid’s fire. He stopped for a moment and glanced at the woman, then returned to his pacing. His gaze swung to Reid’s tent, where Charlotte slept.

The fire crackled and then popped, sending an ember flying. It landed on the ground near Reid’s feet.

“You said Charlie is promised to another?” Calum asked.

Reid’s breathing slowed, and he narrowed his focus to his friend.

Calum stopped and faced Reid. “If you’re not enjoying her company , why not allow her to sleep in my tent?”

Without taking his eyes off Calum, Reid stood. “I said you’re not to talk about Charlie.”

Calum came around the fire. “If I accept the offer of that Indian over there, I’ll be complaining of some kind of disease in less than a week, just like the rest of these men.”

“So don’t accept the offer.”

“But ’tis been a year since I was with Estelle.” Calum ran his hand through his hair. “It could be months before I see her again. I don’t think I can wait that long.”

Calum had taken a mixed-blood wife in his second season, in à la facon du pays , or in the custom of the country. Marriage looked much different in the fur trade. Those who took part practiced an open arrangement, where a couple was considered married after the man presented gifts to the bride’s family and the family approved. Once she moved in with him, they were “married,” but both were free to leave the marriage at any moment, if they chose. In this way, many fur traders took brides, whether to strengthen an alliance, or to keep their beds warm. If they grew weary of the woman or decided to return to Montreal or Europe when they retired, many left their families in the interior. Some just passed them along to the next bourgeois who took over the fur post, and others sent them back to where they had come from. Very few remained, like Reid’s father, to live out the remainder of their days with their country wives.

Estelle awaited Calum’s return at the last fur post he managed in the Folle Avoine , or Wild Rice District. If Calum was not sent back there, he would hire a voyageur to collect her and their young son to join him wherever he was stationed. At least, that was his plan. If he chose to leave her in the Folle Avoine, she would have no recourse to demand he take care of her and the child. And if she did not wait for Calum, he had no power to enforce his marriage or parental rights.

“You will keep your distance from Charlie.” Reid had not brought her this far to hand her over to someone who would misuse her. He crossed his arms, his muscles tensing. “I would not dishonor her with the suggestion—and she would not disgrace herself in accepting it.”

Two new Algonquians—a man and a woman—entered the edge of light encircling Reid’s campfire, drawing Reid’s attention away from Calum.

“Are you the bourgeois?” the man asked Reid in broken French.

“ Oui .” Reid had seen this man in camp earlier. He wore several eagle feathers in his hair, marking his leadership among his people. “ Bienvenue .”

“I am son of Chief Tessouat.” He stood tall and proud, his face betraying no emotions. “My sister, Wawetseka, is gift from my father to trader chief for this night.”

Wawetseka kept her dark eyes lowered to the ground as her brother spoke. She was a beautiful woman, with long dark hair flowing to her waist. Clothed in a deerskin dress, the custom of her people, her ankles and forearms were bare.

Calum watched Reid closely, knowing where he stood on this issue.

Several voyageurs had taken notice of the new visitors, many of them stopping to watch. More than one cast appreciative glances at Wawetseka—and curious glances at Reid, probably wondering what he would do.

Reid had an important job as the bourgeois, and he took it seriously. Trade relations among the Indians were vital to the success of the fur trade. He could not dishonor Chief Tessouat by rejecting his daughter. Instead, he nodded thanks to the chief’s son, who simply turned and left the camp.

Wawetseka stood quietly, awaiting direction from Reid.

Calum stepped to Reid’s side. “I ken you dinna plan to enjoy the chief’s gift. Do you mind if I do?”

Reid wanted to send the girl home where she belonged, but it would do no good. The chief would simply return her to the camp, angry that she had been rejected. With a quick nod, Calum was given his answer, and he took Wawetseka’s hand and led her to his tent.

“Reid?” Charlotte opened the flap of his tent, her eyelids heavy from sleep.

“Aye?” He walked to her. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” Her gaze landed on Calum, who paused and looked her way before slipping into his tent with the chief’s daughter. “What’s going on?”

This was one of the customs he’d warned her about when she’d begged him to take her to Grand Portage. He wanted to shelter her from the practice but knew it would not be the last time she was exposed to the custom. Each time they camped near a village, the native women would be presented to the men. It was simply their way and had been for over a hundred years since the Europeans had entered the northwestern wilderness.

“Young Mr. Crawford has not been given his turn,” one of the voyageurs called out to the rest of the men. “If he’s to be a man, tonight’s the night!”

Several others rallied to the call, and one took an Indian woman around the waist, directing her to Reid’s tent.

“This one should do,” the voyageur said good-naturedly, while the rest laughed. He nudged the woman forward. “The young clerk’s name is Charlie. He might not have any hair on his face or chest, but he’s been cut from his maman’s apron strings and ought to enjoy the freedom.”

Charlotte frowned as she pulled the tent flaps close to her body.

Reid stepped in front of her, anger coursing like fire through his veins. “Leave the lad alone. He’s been ill.”

“What better way to make him well again?” The stocky voyageur laughed and slapped his thigh.

“Go back into the tent,” Reid said quietly to Charlotte.

He couldn’t see her but heard the tent flaps close.

Planting his feet, Reid stood before a dozen voyageurs and crossed his arms. “I allow you to do what you want, but I willna let you pressure the lad to join. Go back to your campfires and leave him alone.”

The voyageur’s smile fell, and he placed a possessive arm around the Indian woman’s waist again, drawing her close to his side. “We were just having some fun.”

“Have it in your own way, at your own fire.”

As the bourgeois, Reid’s authority was not to be questioned. The men turned without another word and left him. He’d gained a reputation in the fur trade as a devout man, but the voyageurs never tired in testing him.

Reid’s tent beckoned with Charlotte—probably confused about what had just happened. If he was smart, he would let her fall back to sleep and enter the tent later, when he was tired and ready to sleep himself.

But at the moment, he was not tired. He was more awake than he’d been in weeks.

“Reid?” Her voice was quiet and uncertain.

He didn’t debate another moment but opened the flap and stepped into his tent.

She sat on her cot, fully dressed, hugging her knees to her chest. The light from the campfire flickered outside the tent, sending shadows through the canvas, making her eyes dance.

Reid quietly turned and tied the flaps closed.

“Are those women in camp for the reasons I assume?” she asked.

He didn’t bother to look at her but simply nodded.

“And Calum?” Her voice was low, disappointed. “Does he partake?”

She’d seen him taking Wawetseka into his tent. What more could he say?

He didn’t undress but went to his cot and sat, facing her. “’Tis the way things are done.”

She had taken off her boots but kept her socks on. She focused on her feet now and didn’t meet his gaze. “And you?” She swallowed. “Do you need me to leave your tent for—?”

“No.” His answer was quick and decisive. “I dinna abide the practice.”

Charlotte nodded once and still did not look at him. “I’m happy to hear it.”

“I’m sorry, lass. I hope the men dinna insult you.”

“They think I’m a young man. You warned me about these things.”

Reid gripped the edge of his cot, frustrated by all of them. “Even if you were a young man, ’tis still an insult, if you ask me.”

She turned her smile to him, her eyes lighting with approval.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

Charlotte shook her head. “Are you?”

“No.”

An awkward silence filled the small space.

“But we should try to sleep.” Reid lay on his back, fully clothed. “Morning will come sooner than we’d like. The days are growing longer. We have several portages tomorrow.”

The campfire grew dimmer, darkening the interior of the tent.

Charlotte also lay down and pulled her blanket up to her chin. She turned to her side and faced Reid. The distance between their costs felt like it was shrinking with each passing day, and he was afraid if he turned to look at her, it would feel like he was lying in the same bed as the lass—a thought that made every muscle in his body tense.

“How long will you remain in the fur trade?” she asked.

He continued to look at the sloped canvas ceiling. “I hope to become a shareholder at the end of this season. I’ll know more when I meet with the other shareholders at Grand Portage. After that—” He paused. He had not given much thought to what would happen after he became a shareholder. In the past fifteen years, he had focused on only one thing—but what would he do after he achieved it? He would buy his mother that little cottage in the country that he’d promised her, but beyond that, he was uncertain. “I will probably serve another five to ten years in the interior, unless the shareholders find a position for me in Montreal or London.”

“Do you enjoy it?” Doubt hovered in her voice, as if she couldn’t imagine anyone enjoying this lifestyle.

It was dark enough that he felt it was safe to turn and look at her in the next cot. “There are things about it I enjoy.” He thought about Calum sleeping with Wawetseka in the other tent while his wife and child awaited him in Folle Avoine, and Reid sighed. “And other things I canna abide.”

Charlotte looked away from him and ran her finger across a seam in the canvas wall. “I miss home. I’ll be happy to return to England when all of this is done.”

He’d only known her for a week, but he already hated to think about the day he’d have to say goodbye.

Several weeks passed, and Charlotte grew accustomed to the rhythm of the voyageur life. They awoke with the sun, immediately loaded their canoes, and spent several hours paddling before they took a break to eat. Some days, they portaged many times, and other days, like today, they only had one or two portages. Always, they moved to the west toward Lake Huron and on to Lake Superior. Six days ago, they had left the familiarity of the Utawas River and had portaged through several independent lakes.

Tonight, their camp was much like all the others, though this one was situated on a peninsula of land jutting into a deep, tree-rimmed lake. Craggy rocks and bluffs pierced the sky, making odd-shaped silhouettes on the horizon. The moon was waning, offering less light and allowing the stars to shine even brighter. The days and nights had grown warmer, and the wilderness had become lush and green, creating a canopy in most camps. But here on the peninsula, there was nothing but a dark, starry sky above them.

A loon called in the distance, its sound echoing off the lake. The first time she’d heard the sound, she had thought it was a wolf howling in the distance and had cowered in fear. Reid had tried not to laugh as he told her the wobbling trill of the loon was no threat to them.

Calum had retired to his tent immediately after it had been pitched, complaining of a sick headache, and Reid had been called to another campfire to settle a dispute between two pork eaters. That left Charlotte alone, a rare thing, indeed. After she’d set the hominy to boiling, she’d rested against one of the boulders near their fire and pulled out her cassette. In stolen moments like this one, she used the company-issued paper and pencils and spent her time drawing.

Most of her pictures were pastoral scenes of the places they had visited, but she also had drawn a few of the voyageurs in camp, and one was of the brigade on the river.

Tonight, she would put the finishing touches on the picture she had drawn of Rideau Falls.

Reid appeared from the shadows, and her heart did a little flip at the unexpected sight of him. He wore his tan trousers and tall black boots. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the top, allowing his lapels to drape open, and he did not wear his coat.

“I spoke to Pierre. We’ll enter Lake Huron tomorrow,” he said, joining Charlotte. “We are more than halfway to Grand Portage.”

Charlotte tucked her drawing inside her cassette, stood, and ladled some hominy into a bowl for him. “Another three weeks?”

Thanking her, he took the bowl and settled onto the ground, his back to a boulder across the fire from her. “If the weather is favorable.” He took a bite of the steaming corn mush and nodded toward her cassette. “What are you working on?”

She looked at the inconspicuous wooden box. “It’s nothing.”

“Is it something Calum asked you to do?”

Calum had given Charlotte some menial tasks as she’d become more comfortable with the duties expected of her—though not as many as she would have suspected. For the most part, the other assistant clerk kept his distance from her, as did most of the voyageurs. Since the night with the Algonquians, no one pressured her or teased her about being coddled. They didn’t even insist she smoke with them or participate in any other distasteful pastime.

Had Reid spoken to them on her behalf? If he had, she was grateful.

“It’s nothing,” she said again as she lifted the cassette to take it to their tent and away from his curious eyes.

Reid lowered his bowl. “What’s in there?”

She hadn’t shown her work to anyone other than her parents, because it was for her pleasure and nothing else. She had no desire to be criticized or laughed at.

“It’s just a little hobby.”

“May I see?” He set aside his bowl, his face expectant.

What would it hurt to show him? He’d seen her at her worst and treated her with more respect and admiration than before. Even if he found fault in her drawings, he would not belittle her.

Charlotte walked around the fire and placed the cassette on the ground, then took a seat beside him. She opened the box and lifted out the picture she’d drawn of Rideau Falls.

“It’s nothing impressive.” She handed the drawing to him with an apprehensive heart. “Just something I play at.”

She watched his face as he looked at her drawing, holding her breath as she waited for his response. Why did it matter what he thought of her art? Would she be this nervous showing it to one of the other men in camp?

“’Tis incredible.” He glanced up at her, amazement in his gaze. “You’ve captured Rideau Falls perfectly.”

“I’m not finished with it,” she explained quickly. “I’d like to add more shading here.” She pointed to a section that had been shadowed the day they visited the falls. “And more foliage on the trees.” She tried taking it back. “There’s a great deal I should change, actually.”

He held it out of her reach and shook his head, returning his gaze to the drawing. “’Tis perfect as it is, lass.”

She stopped trying to take it from him and clasped her hands in her lap. “You’re too kind.”

“May I keep it?”

She blinked several times in surprise. He wanted to keep her drawing?

“I-I.” She stuttered, unsure what to say. “It’s not finished.”

Reid held it, almost reverently, and met her gaze again. “I wouldna change a thing.”

Charlotte squeezed her hands into fists, forcing herself not to take the drawing back. If he wanted it, she’d be honored to know it belonged to him. “Then it’s yours.”

“Thank you. When I return to Montreal, I will show it to my mither. I’ve always wanted her to see the falls.” He looked past her at the cassette. “Do you have any others?”

“I do.”

“May I see them?”

She’d already done the hard part in showing him one. What would it hurt to show him the rest?

Digging deep into the cassette, she pulled out a stack of pictures and handed them to Reid. “I’ve spent even less time finishing these,” she said quickly. “They are rough sketches.”

He looked through them, one at a time, astonishment lighting his eyes. “These are amazing. You should have them published when you return to London. People would be eager to see them.”

The thought of publishing her work for the world to see was preposterous, but she appreciated his compliments.

She reached over to take the papers back.

But he came to the last page—the one she thought she had buried deep beneath her ledgers. Somehow, it had made its way back to this pile.

It was a drawing of him.

Without his shirt.

Charlotte’s cheeks flamed with heat, and her hands began to shake. She wanted to take the paper from him and make some excuse about why she had drawn it, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Reid stared at the drawing.

What must he think of her? She had told herself not to draw him, but the temptation had been too strong. Every morning when she awoke and found him lying beside her, his bare chest had begged to be explored with her fingers. She had turned that desire into a picture, exploring the muscles with the tip of her pencil, instead.

“Reid.” She said his name, her voice catching. But she didn’t know what else to say.

He finally looked up at her, the firelight flickering in his brown eyes. There was no anger or embarrassment. Instead, questions shimmered in their depths, though he didn’t voice them.

She reached for the picture, and he let it go without a fight.

“I—I’ll burn it, if you like.” She leaned toward the fire.

He reached for her arm and stopped her, pulling her back to his side.

“You dinna need to burn it.”

“I’m sorry I drew it.” She choked on her words, his hand still heavy on her arm. “I-I was simply curious to see if I could draw a-a male body.” Her cheeks continued to burn with shame and embarrassment. “Now that I know I can, I should destroy it.”

“Dinna be sorry, lass.” His voice was low, intimate as he slowly removed his hand. “I’m honored.”

She wanted to throw herself in the lake and perish. He was only being kind, of that she was certain. What gentleman would allow a lady to be embarrassed if he had the ability to prevent it?

She took the stack of papers from him and stuffed them back into her cassette, leaving the one of Rideau Falls on his lap.

“If you slept with a shirt on, I-I wouldn’t be tempted to draw such things.” She stumbled through her words, trying to place the blame on him, when she knew it was her own weakness that had allowed her to draw the picture.

“You dinna like seeing me without a shirt?”

She swallowed. On the contrary, she liked it too much—but she couldn’t tell him that. “I think I’ll turn in early.” She stood and lifted the cassette, needing to remove herself from the conversation before she dug herself in too deep. “It’s your tent. You may do as you like.”

He stood to face her, his back to the fire, his face in shadows. “If it bothers you, I’ll not do it again.”

“No.” She shook her head. He had been kind enough to bring her along on this journey. She couldn’t tell him how to sleep. “I-I’m fine. Good night.”

She didn’t meet his gaze—couldn’t.

“Good night.”

Charlotte entered the tent and let the flap fall behind her. Taking several deep breaths, she set the cassette on the ground and crawled into her cot.

Pulling the blanket over her head, she groaned. He must think she was the lowest sort of female, drawing a picture of him practically nude.

When Reid came into their tent later, she pretended to be asleep.

In the morning, when she woke up, Reid lay on his cot next to her, his chest just as bare—and just as superb—as usual.

And she was relieved—which made her more ashamed than before.