8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
R eid knocked on McTavish’s door and waited for an invitation to enter. It came immediately.
Three men sat at a round oak table in the middle of McTavish’s private quarters. A map lay in the center of the table, with books holding the corners down. A canopied bed was tucked into the corner with a wash basin nearby. Bookshelves, a desk, and a fireplace took up another wall. Thankfully, the fire had not been laid, because Reid felt overly warm already. Would these men end his fifteen-year career immediately? Or let him suffer?
The room was situated on one end of the Great Hall and served as McTavish’s sleeping room as well as his office during the Rendezvous. He came out with the first brigade of pork eaters from Montreal in the spring and returned with the last at the end of the summer.
“Ah, McCoy.” Simon McTavish stood and extended his hand to Reid. “We’ve been waiting for you to arrive in Grand Portage.”
Reid also shook hands with Alexander Mackenzie and Peter Pond. The three men owned more than half the shares in the company combined and oversaw the two thousand, five hundred men who made up the North West Company. Reid had no idea why they would seek a private meeting with him. He had made a request to purchase shares in the company, but that would require him to go before a separate board that brought the request to these men.
“What can I do for you?” Reid asked.
“Have a seat.” McTavish pulled a chair out for Reid, then took his own. “Would you like some high wine?”
At the shake of Reid’s head, McTavish continued. “We have a great deal to discuss with you.”
Reid sat at the table and looked at each man, one at a time.
“We’ve called you here today because your sales numbers have caught our eye,” McTavish said.
“You earned more than any other bourgeois for the last three seasons you served in the interior,” Mackenzie continued. “That does not go unnoticed.”
Reid began to relax. This was not about Charlotte.
“The XY men have moved into the Folle Avoine District.” McTavish pointed to a spot on the map about forty miles west of Mille Lac on the Mississippi River. “Andrew Fraser held the post at Crow Wing on the Mississippi for the past five years and brought in some of the finest furs in the whole company.”
“But this past year,” Mackenzie interrupted, his aging face lined with frustration, “the XY men built a post two miles from Fraser and lured the Chippewa to trade with them, instead.”
“We need you to take over Fraser’s post.” McTavish cut to the heart of their meeting. “And secure the trade, no matter the cost.”
“Fraser retired this year and left a poor taste in the mouth of Chief Babis?gand?be.” Peter Pond finally spoke. He was the youngest of the men and an American. “Fraser left his country wife at the post, without children. She is the daughter of the chief.”
“They call Babis?gand?be ‘Curly Head.’ He is a well-respected chief of the Mississippi Band of Chippewa.” McTavish ran his finger down the length of the upper Mississippi on the map. “He lives in a village at a place called Crow Wing. ’Tis some of the most fertile and rich fur country in North America. Crow Wing is also at the confluence of two rivers and well known by the Chippewa. If we lose the trade in that region, it will hurt our profits more than we’d like.”
Reid took in all the information they had given him and nodded in understanding, though he had many questions.
“We need a man who will restore relations with Curly Head and create an alliance that will push the XY men out of the region.” McTavish leveled his gaze on Reid, his bushy eyebrows covering the top of his eyes. “And we believe you are that man, McCoy.”
Reid sat taller, amazed that these men had selected him from among all the other gentlemen in the fur trade.
“We’ve heard you would like to become a shareholder.” Pond folded his hands on the table. “And we’re prepared to make a deal with you. If you secure the trade with Curly Head and bring in the numbers we believe that post is capable of creating, we will grant your request at next year’s Rendezvous.”
Reid rubbed his palms on his pant legs under the table. This was what he’d been working for his entire career as a fur trader—to become a shareholder. All he had to do was secure the trade, something he’d done at several other posts. It seemed almost too good to be true.
“Will you take this post?” McTavish asked.
Reid didn’t need to think twice. “Aye. I’ll gladly go.”
The three men seemed to release their breaths, and they all sat back, smiles on their faces. “Good!” McTavish said. “We hoped you’d say aye.”
“We’ve gathered the best north men in the company and prepared your supplies already.” Mackenzie explained. “We’d like you to set out in the next day or two. The sooner you can get to Crow Wing, the better.”
Reid nodded. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Good.” Pond glanced at his fellow shareholders. “We hoped you’d have that attitude.” He cleared his throat. “Since Curly Head is angry over the treatment of his daughter by Fraser, we believe the best way to seal an alliance with the chief is by marrying his daughter and restoring his faith in our company.”
Reid stilled. “Take a country wife?”
“Aye.” McTavish nodded. “We’ve heard Curly Head is angry because Fraser did not give his daughter children, which she felt was her right.”
“We’ve been told you dinna have a wife.” Mackenzie studied him. “Is that true?”
Reid fidgeted in his chair. “’Tis true.” He hated to discuss personal matters with these men, but they needed to understand his choices. “I have no wish to get married.”
The men stared at him, though none of them said a word. McTavish had taken a French-Canadian wife, and Mackenzie had married a mixed-blood woman—surely they wouldn’t understand Reid’s hesitation.
After a moment, Pond said, “We cannot force you to marry her—but we want you to do whatever it will take to make the alliance. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Will you consider taking her as your wife?” Mackenzie asked.
Reid did not want to make a promise to these men he could not keep, but he would be foolish not to consider their request. “I will.”
“There’s one other thing we need to tell you.” Pond leaned forward, his rotund belly making it difficult to place his forearms on the table. “We’ve learned you may have a connection to the bourgeois of the XY post, and that’s another reason we’ve chosen you for this job.”
Reid frowned. “Who would that be?”
Pond glanced at McTavish before continuing. “His name is Lachlan . . .McCoy.”
“Lachlan McCoy?” Reid frowned. “I dinna ken the name.”
“He’s a mixed-blood man.” McTavish leaned back in his chair. “His father is Sean McCoy. He’s your half brother.”
The air rushed out of Reid’s lungs. His half brother?
“Your father was a Nor’West man before the company split,” McTavish explained, though he needn’t bother. “His son Lachlan joined the XY Company and has been tasked with stealing the rich Mississippi River trade in the Folle Avoine District from us.”
Reid clasped his hands and rested his elbows on the table before bringing his fists to his lips.
“If you do this”—McTavish laid his hands on the map—“you will be greatly rewarded.”
Silence filled McTavish’s room as the four men waited for Reid’s reply, given this new information.
He didn’t need to think on it long. He would do this thing they asked—regardless of the cost. In one fell swoop, he could become a shareholder and send a message to his father. If Reid could secure the trade and close the XY post—because that’s exactly what he intended to do—Sean McCoy would know his legitimate son was worth something.
“I will go immediately.”
McTavish extended his hand and shook Reid’s. “We wish you Godspeed.”
Charlotte’s plight rushed back at him, and he paused. He couldn’t leave her at Grand Portage, and he couldn’t risk sending her off with the Upper Red River men to Stephen either. They might discover her identity and misuse her—and if Stephen was already dead, she’d be trapped there, with no one to aid her. If Rutherford didn’t find her at Grand Portage, no doubt he’d travel to Stephen’s post looking for her there.
No. Reid would need to take her with him to Crow Wing. He’d send a message to Stephen before they left the Rendezvous to come to her when he was well enough to travel. It was their only choice.
“I have one request,” Reid said as the others stood, and he followed.
“Aye?” McTavish asked.
“I have a new assistant clerk who came out with me from Montreal. I’d like to take him with me to Crow Wing. He has potential, and I’d like to train him myself.”
“Whatever you’d like,” Pond said. “The lad may go with you. I’m sure he’ll be thankful for the opportunity.”
Reid shook the other men’s hands and left McTavish’s room, his head spinning with all the things he’d learned—and all the things he needed to accomplish to take down the XY post.
But first, he would have to tell Charlotte that she’d remain his clerk until Stephen could come for her—which might take several months.
He couldn’t deny the pleasure he felt knowing he wouldn’t have to say goodbye to her yet—but it was soon followed with apprehension. There was still a great risk that she would be discovered, and now that Reid was closer than ever to becoming a shareholder, he didn’t want to compromise that opportunity.
Worse, he’d grown very fond of Lady Charlotte Fairfax—much too fond for his own good.
She was still promised to another man, and Reid would honor that promise. No matter how difficult it might become.
Supper had been cleared away, but the gentlemen had not left the Great Hall. Charlotte sat next to Calum, mindlessly listening to the conversations all around her. Some of the men were crude, their jokes making her ears burn. Others were deep in philosophical or religious conversations, starved from months of living at distant posts without other Europeans to discuss such weighty topics.
Calum told her that Reid had gone into the room at the corner of the Great Hall, and she had spent the past twenty minutes watching the door, waiting for him to exit. She felt like she was suspended over a deep abyss on a tight rope, worrying if she would make it across or fall into the unknown darkness. Reid had said he would not leave her stranded, but what did that mean? Would he send her back to Montreal with the pork eaters? Would he escort her to Stephen’s post?
What would become of her?
“Drink.” Calum pushed a goblet of wine toward her. “It’ll calm your nerves.”
The smell brought back memories of Roger in a drunken stupor, and she pushed it back to him. “No, thank you.”
Calum turned and straddled the bench, his full attention on Charlotte. “You need to relax, Charlie.”
She’d relax once she knew what she could do—and maybe not even then. What was taking Reid so long?
The door to Mr. McTavish’s room opened, and Charlotte sat up straight, her back tight with anticipation.
Reid shook one of the men’s hands and nodded. He did not smile, but the men who exited the room with him were smiling.
She wanted to leave the table and speak to him about what would happen next, but she didn’t want to draw undue attention. He’d come to her when he was ready.
“You and Reid spent a lot of time alone in that tent,” Calum said quietly. His eyes were glossy from the alcohol, and when she met his gaze, he offered her a lopsided grin. “I wouldna mind a bit of alone time with you myself.”
Had he drunk too much? She glanced around to see if anyone had heard what he said, but no one seemed to pay attention.
She ignored Calum and focused, instead, on Reid, who was taking far too long to join them.
“Did you hear me, lass?” Calum asked.
Charlotte’s heart picked up its rhythm at the word lass . She hadn’t come this far to be discovered now.
“I think I’ll join Reid.” She rose from the table.
“Of course you will.” Calum’s grin did not falter. “Just save some for me.”
She frowned as she moved away from him.
Reid turned from the other men and walked to the table where the candlesticks were kept. After he selected one, he lit it in the massive fireplace nearby and then met Charlotte at the front door. Together they left the Great Hall and stepped onto the covered porch.
The sun had sunk behind the mountain at the rear of Grand Portage, and the horizon above Lake Superior had begun to dim. Pink, orange, and yellow streaked the sky, creating a perfect reflection in the pristine lake.
“I’ll show you to our sleeping quarters.” Reid’s voice was stiff and controlled. He held his hand in front of the candle to protect it from the wind.
He led her off the porch and around the Great Hall to a series of smaller buildings. They moved past the kitchen, which was still bustling with activity, past an apothecary, which had a line of patients waiting to be seen, and past a canoe shop, where several canoes had been stacked.
She didn’t press him for information, and he didn’t offer any, but her insides were bunched up in knots as she waited to know what he planned to do.
“Our dormitory is this way.” They took a well-worn path to a two-story building with glass windows, two chimneys on both ends, and a covered porch, similar to the one on the Great Hall.
“The clerks sleep in this dormitory, but the shareholders sleep in there”—he nodded at the building next door—“in their own rooms.”
Two men exited the clerks’ building, as Reid and Charlotte entered a long hallway that ran the length of the building and housed a staircase. “Our room is this way.” He led her down the hall to a room at the back. A single window faced the foot of the mountain, revealing a steep path in the dim light.
Two sets of bunks, a table, and four chairs were the only furniture in the room. Four hooks lined the wall next to the door. Reid set the candle on the table then hung his pack on one of the hooks. Charlotte was thankful to hang her bag on another. Her wet clothes had saturated the canvas fabric, and she’d be glad to hang them up to dry—but that was the least of her worries right now.
Thankfully, the room was empty. When Reid closed the door behind them, he leaned against it and sighed.
Charlotte stood in the middle of the room and clasped her hands together but didn’t say a word. The room was growing dark, but the candle allowed her to see him clearly.
He met her gaze, and she thought she might cry from the look in his brown eyes. It was a mixture of empathy and frustration.
She hadn’t thought about how this would affect him—had only thought about herself. Surely he had no desire to continue caring for her. He didn’t owe her a thing. His debt to Stephen was paid. He’d brought her safely to Grand Portage and was not honor bound to take her any farther. She’d become an unwanted bit of baggage that he would now have to deal with, because he was a gentleman.
She’d never felt more alone or unwanted in her life.
The tears formed of their own accord before she could stop them. She swallowed, trying to prevent them from spilling over, but her chin quivered, and the first tear escaped, trickling down her cheek.
“Och, lass.” Reid moved away from the door and gathered her into his arms in one fluid movement. “Dinna cry.”
She buried her face against his chest, clinging to the lapels of his coat. She hated how she felt—hated that she had put him in this position. He was too good and too kind to be burdened with her problems.
His shirt was soft against her cheek, and he smelled of fresh soap, wind, and pipe tobacco. One of his hands cupped the back of her head, while the other ran up and down the length of her back. The muscles in his chest rippled with the movement.
“Dinna fash, I willna let anything harm you.” He whispered the promise.
He’d said the same on the first night they’d met and then again when Roger was spotted traveling with the XY men. So far, he’d kept his word—but how could she ask him to continue? He had a life to live, one that did not include her.
His hands were warm and gentle, and she felt loved and sheltered in his embrace. It was everything she’d imagined his touch would be—and more.
Longing curled inside her belly, surprising her and stopping the flow of tears.
Reid’s hand stilled on her low back, and his chest muscles tensed under her cheek.
She should pull away, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay in his arms like this forever.
He was the first to pull back but only far enough to look into her eyes.
Something profound and powerful moved within the depths of his gaze—something that both frightened her and filled her with wonder.
She couldn’t tear herself away from him, and he made no move to let her go.
“Charlotte . . .”
She marveled at the sound of her name in his Scottish brogue.
Footsteps echoed down the hall, moving toward them.
Reid let her go quickly. She had to reach for one of the bunks to support her, lest she fall.
The footsteps continued down the corridor, and Charlotte let out a shaky breath.
Reid moved to the window and stood there, looking outside for a long time.
Charlotte’s legs began to shake, and she lowered herself to the bottom bunk. What had just passed between them? Had she imagined it?
“I’m being sent to the Mississippi River in the Folle Avoine District,” he said quietly. “I’m to restore trade relations with Chief Babis?gand?be.”
“Is that a great distance from here?” she asked just as quietly.
“Another five- or six-week journey into the interior.”
“Will you leave soon?”
“Tomorrow or the next day. I will meet with my men in the morning and look over all the provisions that have been prepared.” He finally turned away from the window and put his hand on the back of a chair. “I have much to do before I can leave here.”
She nodded but did not meet his eyes again, too afraid of what she might see. She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her sleeve, forcing her emotions to stay at bay. Her hands trembled, and she braced herself for whatever might come next.
“I willna leave you here, Charlie.” He was back to calling her the name he’d given her in Montreal.
“What will I do?” She didn’t want to cry again but wanted to face the future with as much courage as she could muster.
“The Upper Red River men are leaving in the morning. I will send a letter with their bourgeois telling Stephen where I will be stationed this winter. I willna mention you, in case someone else reads the letter, but I will make it clear that I have fulfilled my debt, and when he is well enough to travel, he can come and collect it.”
“How long might it take him?”
Reid sighed and took a seat on the chair nearest the window—and farthest from her. “It will take the Red River men at least eight weeks to reach their post. If Stephen is alive and recovered, he will probably try to get away as soon as he’s able—but it might not be until winter sets in, since there is much to be done when the north men return to their posts.”
“How long will it take him to get from his post to yours?” She fisted her hands on her lap, afraid of his answer.
“If he comes in the winter and he has a seasoned guide, they will travel over the frozen lakes and rivers with a dogsled—but it would still take him at least six weeks. If he comes before the freeze, much longer.”
Charlotte did the calculations in her head. It was mid-June now. “Four months?”
Reid nodded. “At least. It could be as many as six.”
She stood and cradled her arms, trying not to panic. “And what would I do until then?”
“You will act as the assistant clerk at my post. Calum has taught you well, and what you dinna ken, I will teach you myself.”
He’d do this for her? But why? He didn’t owe her any favors. “I’ll continue as Charlie Crawford?”
He stared at her for a long moment and then nodded. “Aye. Charlie Crawford, company clerk.”
Charlotte paced across the room and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth while she considered his plan.
“There’s no other option, lass.”
The thought of continuing as a man for the next several months, with no guarantee that Stephen would come for her, was not what she had wanted or hoped for. She longed for Blissfield Manor and the comforts of home.
But she was thankful Reid was willing to help her, and she was determined he would not regret his offer. She would be the best assistant clerk he’d ever had, and she would do it without complaining.
“Thank you, Reid.” She wouldn’t let the emotion cloud her speech and make him sorry he’d allowed a European woman into the fur trade.
The candle flickered, sending shadows dancing over the planes of his handsome face.
Longing warmed her belly again, and she forced herself to look away.
It would be a long winter.