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

13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

C onstruction on the row house began early the next day. Charlotte felt helpless, yet in awe, as she watched the men prepare the logs for building. As a clerk, she wasn’t required to participate in the manual labor demanded of the voyageurs. Even if she was, she would have no idea how to help. She’d never witnessed the construction of a log building and found the work fascinating. Reid had drawn up a plan that morning, and the men had gone to work immediately.

The row house would be a hundred feet long and twenty feet wide. It would consist of seven connected rooms, with the centermost being the bourgeois’s main living quarters. On the north end there would be three large bunk rooms for the voyageurs, and on the south side, next to the main living space, there was a sleeping room for the bourgeois, a storage room, and then on the very end, a trading room. Those who had families would be responsible for erecting their own cabins behind the row house.

Because they had not brought nails, as nails were too heavy to carry long distances, the row house was built in the pièce sur pièce method. The men would notch out a groove in a long post, bury it in a corner of the building, and then stack the logs on their sides, securing them in place by sliding carved ends into the groove of the buried post.

The first section the men worked on was the bourgeois’s living quarters, storage room, and trading room. Next would come the voyageurs’ rooms.

“If this heat would let up, the men would work faster,” Noemie said as she brought Charlotte a bucket of water and a ladle. Charlotte sat beneath an elm tree, recording the activities in her journal. Reid had cautioned her to write as if she were Charlie Crawford and not Lady Charlotte, because the journal belonged to the North West Company and would be read by the shareholders.

What she wanted to record was the kiss from last night, because she feared one day she would believe it had just been a dream. But she could never write down such a thing, for fear someone would read it and discover she was a woman—and because it would be best if she tried to forget it altogether.

Things had been awkward with her and Reid that morning, though she’d tried to pretend otherwise. Every time she looked at him, she remembered the feel of his skin beneath her hands, the press of his lips to her mouth, and the weightlessness she’d felt in his arms.

Charlotte took a sip of the cool water, trying to wash away the thoughts, and thanked Noemie. “I fear a storm is the only thing that will break the heat.” She tried to sound normal, though her world had been upended the night before. “I’ve already witnessed several of those storms in this country.” Wind, thunder, lightning, hail, and even a funnel cloud had been produced during the last. Until she was out of the tent and in a solid building, she would prefer not to endure another.

Reid had gone into their tent ten minutes before and now stepped out in his finest suit of clothes. His boots were polished, his hair combed and pulled back into a queue, and his tailcoat looked recently brushed.

He was going to see Curly Head, just as he’d planned, and she would go with him to record the event. She had already changed into her best clothing as well and had gone through the motions of making herself presentable—though her toilette was nothing like it had been when she was a lady.

She set her journal in her cassette and picked up the wooden box.

Reid was preoccupied with his cravat when she approached, but he stopped fussing with it and met her gaze.

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

“Does it show?”

“Only to those who are looking closely.” She forced herself to smile, for his benefit, and was rewarded with his smile in return.

But something shifted in his eyes. “Charlotte—about last night—”

Jean-Paul’s whistle preceded him as he approached from the rear of their tent. “It’s a beautiful day to visit a chief.” The voyageur guide was also dressed in his finest clothes.

Along with Jean-Paul, the interpreter also joined them. He was a mixed-blood man who looked more Indian than French and made Charlotte nervous with the way he watched her. He had been hired to help negotiate with the Chippewa. Though Jean-Paul and Reid spoke the Indian’s native tongue, the North West Company had supplied the interpreter so there would be no misunderstanding.

Smiling in his jovial way, Jean-Paul clasped his hands. “Are you ready, Reid?”

Reid fidgeted with his cravat again and nodded.

Charlotte shifted her cassette in her hands, wishing they hadn’t been interrupted and Reid could have finished what he wanted to say. But it wasn’t to be, and perhaps that was for the best.

Two voyageurs approached, laden with packages on their backs.

“Gifts for the chief,” Jean-Paul said to Charlotte when he noticed her curious gaze. “And his pretty daughter.”

Reid didn’t wait for Jean-Paul to explain more. Instead, he began to walk toward the north and allowed everyone to move in beside and behind him.

Reid walked between Jean-Paul and Charlotte. His mind should have been focused on his upcoming meeting with Chief Curly Head and everything he must accomplish, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the woman beside him. He’d lain awake for hours the night before, the memory of their embrace lingering long into the wee, still hours of the morn. With Charlotte’s soft breathing in the next cot, he’d come to accept something he had denied for a long time. He was in love with Lady Charlotte Fairfax. And, if the way she had responded to him was any indication, her feelings ran deep for him, as well.

Instead of denying his need for her, he had encouraged it, even allowed her to respond. But it wasn’t fair to her, or to Stephen, and he was a fool for letting it go that far. Worse, now that he knew he loved her and knew how it felt to hold her close, he was more miserable than before.

He was almost certain she had been crying last night after their kiss, but he had known, deep in his being, that if he had tried to comfort her, they would have much more to regret this morning.

The headache that had disappeared while he had bathed returned in full force now. It made his mood sour, and he let out a frustrated sigh.

“Are you not well?” Charlotte asked, concern deepening her frown.

“I’m fine.” But he wasn’t, in body or soul.

And by the look in her eyes, he could see she didn’t believe him, and she wasn’t doing any better.

“The chief lives in his village year-round,” Jean-Paul told the men who followed him. “He is the leader of a courageous group of warriors who defend this area from their mortal enemies, the Dakota.”

Charlotte swallowed hard as her gaze came up and she surveyed the thick woods all around them. Was she afraid the Dakota would suddenly appear? At the moment, their only enemies were the mosquitoes. He swatted at one that pierced the skin on his neck. The others also brushed them aside, a slap resounding in the still woods every few seconds.

Beside them, the Mississippi ran high with all the rain they’d had in the weeks leading up to their arrival. It rushed south, around a bend, and out of sight.

The noise from the village met their ears before they saw it. A dog barked in the distance, and the smell of campfire smoke drifted to them on the humid air. Children’s laughter mingled with the hum of conversation.

Reid took a deep breath, preparing himself for the meeting.

“Curly Head lives in a wigwam near the riverbanks,” Jean-Paul said. “He is much respected by his people and the traders who have worked with him in the past. There has always been good blood between Curly Head and the North West Company until Andrew Fraser abandoned the chief’s daughter.”

“What do you know of her?” Reid asked as he moved a branch aside to allow Charlotte to follow with her cassette.

Jean-Paul took a few steps before he answered. “I served with Fraser for the past three years, so I had occasion to see Daanis many times. She and Noemie became good friends.”

“Daanis.” Reid tried her name on his lips.

“It means daughter ,” the interpreter supplied.

“She is Curly Head’s only daughter.” Jean-Paul pushed aside another low-hanging branch. “She was given to Fraser when he first took over the post. She was no more than a girl of maybe fourteen.”

Reid was familiar with young brides, having heard of them being given as early as age eleven—but Fraser was a man of at least fifty. What did a girl of fourteen think of that match? Had she been agreeable to it, or had she been forced by her father?

“How old is she now?” Reid asked.

“Nineteen, I believe.” Jean-Paul looked ahead, down the trail. “Despite the age difference, I believe she may have loved Fraser—at least, she was devoted to him. But when she was at her father’s village this spring—” Jean-Paul’s voice was low and serious, so unlike his usual self. “Fraser left without saying goodbye. She knew he would not return. Curly Head was angry, and she was heartbroken.”

“Is that not the way of à la facon du pays?” Charlotte asked, her eyes searching Jean-Paul’s face. “Either party may leave at any time?”

“Oui,” Jean-Paul said. “Though it is not always a mutual decision. Curly Head waited a long time for his daughter to be old enough to marry a North West Company bourgeois. His tribe gains a great deal from the alliance.” He glanced at Reid. “He’s been eager to meet Reid.”

The trees cleared, and Curly Head’s village came into sight. Reid counted thirty-one wigwams scattered about the clearing. The long, low shelters had rounded tops and a narrow opening to let out smoke. Birch bark covered the sapling structures, and animal hides were used as doors. Women and children sat in various places, weaving baskets, grinding grain, drying meat, and tanning hides. The few men in camp were along the riverbanks, working as before.

Two children stood near the path playing a ring and pin game. They each held a stick with a leather cord tied around the end. At the other end of the cord, a wooden disc was attached. The children tossed the ring up and tried to catch it on the tip of the stick.

One little girl saw the traders enter the village, and she called out their arrival to everyone within hearing distance.

Soon, the villagers stopped their work, and many of the children ran up to Reid, all speaking at once. They knew exactly who the bourgeois was, and they knew he would be the one to offer gifts.

“Give the wee bairns some candy,” Reid told one of the voyageurs who carried a pack.

The man dutifully removed his burden and took out striped candy.

Charlotte set her cassette down and took the candy from the voyageur. She bent to the children’s height and handed a piece to each one, a smile lighting her face. One of the children grinned up at her, and she briefly placed her hand on the girl’s cheek. The act was so feminine, so innate, Reid had a brief moment of panic that the other men in his company would notice, though none seemed aware of the subtle gesture.

One of the smallest children toddled with uneven steps, making her way to the group. She was naked and dirty, but she had the biggest eyes Reid had ever seen. Her hair was long and dark and hung around her shoulders in snarls. When she reached her hands toward Reid, he lifted her off the ground and held her in his arms. She put her dusty hands on his face and grinned.

He couldn’t help but grin back.

Charlotte straightened, and she also smiled at the young child. “Do you think she wants a piece of candy?”

“I’m fairly certain.”

The little girl took the stick of candy with her dirty hands, and it went right to her mouth.

“The chief’s lodge is this way,” Jean-Paul told Reid.

He tried to set the little girl down, but she started to cry. On instinct, he turned to Charlotte, a question in his eyes.

She just shrugged and laughed. “She seems to like you.”

With little choice, he continued to hold the girl and followed Jean-Paul through the village, toward the chief’s wigwam, with the children in tow. They surrounded the men, laughing and speaking all at once in their native tongue.

When they were just a few feet away from the dwelling, the animal hide door opened, and a woman stepped out. She paused when she saw the approaching group. Just behind her, a man also exited the abode. He was dressed like Reid with tan breeches, tall black boots, a white shirt and cravat, and a dark red tailcoat. When he straightened to his full height, Reid stopped in his tracks, a younger version of his father standing before him.

Everything in the village faded from Reid’s sight as he looked upon the man he assumed was his half brother Lachlan McCoy. Though he could see the traces of his half-blood mother in the dark eyes and chiseled cheekbones, everything else about him bespoke his Scottish heritage.

He stood eye level with Reid, but he wasn’t as surprised at seeing Reid as Reid was at seeing him.

“It’s good to see you again, Daanis,” Jean-Paul said to the young lady.

She gave a brief nod then glanced from Reid to Lachlan.

Instead of cowering or shying away, Lachlan bowed before Reid. “You must be the North West Company bourgeois.” He stood straight again. “I am Lachlan McCoy, factor at the XY Company post. I hope you enjoyed your welcome to Crow Wing.”

Visions of Reid’s post, burned to the ground, made fury rise within his gut—but he wouldn’t reveal that to Lachlan. It would only make him happy to see Reid weakened by anger.

Daanis was beautiful as she stood beside Lachlan in a long maroon dress, similar to the clothing the women wore at Grand Portage. Her black hair was not styled like the other women, though. Instead, it was split down the middle and worn in long braids, which snaked over her shoulders and rested on her chest. Several necklaces adorned her neck, and long, beaded earrings hung from her earlobes, jingling when she moved. Now she stood completely still, watching these two men closely.

Reid guessed his brother assumed he was the bourgeois but did not know his identity, nor was he expecting to come face-to-face with his father’s only legitimate son today. Reid would take deep satisfaction in knowing it would come as a shock.

So Reid also bowed, being deliberate and slow, and perhaps haughty, in his greeting. “’Tis a pleasure to finally meet you.” He straightened and lifted his chin. “I’m Reid McCoy, son of Sean McCoy, formerly of the North West Company.”

Disbelief and shock registered across Lachlan’s face, and Reid took pleasure in seeing it. Behind the shock, a new emotion rose in Lachlan’s countenance, one that surprised Reid.

Lachlan was ashamed.

Reid knew what it was, because he’d felt the same when he thought of his father’s illegitimate family.

But Lachlan quickly masked his feelings. “I dinna ken you’d be the bourgeois sent to this region. My faither has spoken of you often.”

“I dinna ken you existed until just a few weeks ago.”

Lachlan narrowed his gaze, but Reid refused to show his brother how this meeting affected him. He still held the child, and when she squirmed to leave his arms, Reid realized he’d been holding her a little tighter than necessary. He set her on her feet and nodded at his entourage, catching Charlotte’s concerned gaze.

She offered him the slightest nod of encouragement.

Reid looked back at Lachlan. “We’ve come to meet with Chief Babis?gand?be.”

Daanis lifted the flap and indicated the wigwam. “He is here.”

“Thank you.” Reid motioned for Charlotte and his men to follow him.

Lachlan shared a glance with Daanis, his eyes communicating something Reid could not decipher, though it was evident they knew each other.

Reid stepped toward the wigwam, but Lachlan did not move.

“You are a proud man,” Lachlan said, his jaw tight and his eyes hard. “But you willna win this battle.” He shared another brief glance with Daanis, then looked back at Reid. “You should pack your canoes and find another place to trade, for you will be put to shame here.”

Reid clenched his fists and did not back down, nor did he answer. Instead, he moved around Lachlan and bent low to enter the wigwam.

The interior was dark, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

Along both sides of the wigwam were reed mats and animal furs, which the Indians used for beds at night and seating during the day. A ring of rocks sat in the center of the room and held the smoldering fire. At the far end, a shelf boasted various cooking utensils and family items. Furs, trading blankets, and dried plants hung from the walls and ceiling.

The wigwam smelled of smoke and herbs, and humidity made the air thick and stale.

What would Charlotte think of this home? It was so far removed from the grand manors of her childhood that it might come as a surprise.

He watched her expression as she entered. If she found it unpleasant, she did not show her thoughts or emotions.

She continued to amaze him with her resiliency and poise.

Sitting on the floor of his wigwam, Chief Babis?gand?be smoked a pipe. His hair, for which he’d been given the name, was long with tight curls. He wasn’t an old man, but neither was he young. Reid guessed his age to be about forty.

“Aniin,” Reid said in greeting to Curly Head. “I am Reid McCoy, the new bourgeois of the North West Company fur post.” He bowed, his back still tight from encountering Lachlan.

Curly Head motioned for him to have a seat at his left hand. The others followed behind and sat on both sides of the wigwam. Charlotte next to Reid and Jean-Paul on the other side of Charlotte. The interpreter sat to Curly Head’s right.

The flap closed, but Daanis did not join them. Her voice was heard through the thin walls of the dwelling, beseeching Lachlan, though Reid could not make out what she said.

“Welcome,” Curly Head said to Reid in English. He continued in Chippewa. “I have been anxious to meet the new bourgeois.”

Reid understood most of what he said, but the interpreter still spoke. Since Charlotte was not familiar with the native tongue, he was thankful for the translator.

“I have been eager to meet the chief as well,” Reid said earnestly.

“As you see, new traders have come,” Curly Head said in Chippewa, referencing the XY men. “They give gifts and make friends with the People.”

“I bring gifts too.” Reid opened a pack and pulled out a red coat. “This is for the chief.”

Curly Head took the coat and admired it, nodding several times.

“And this is for your daughter.” Reid hesitated as he took out a coral and blue gown. It had been shipped to Grand Portage from Montreal that spring and from England before that.

Charlotte’s eyes lit up at the sight of the gown and then quickly dimmed before she lowered her gaze. He could only imagine how much she longed for feminine things. He wished he could give them to her, but it would be many months before she could wear a dress again.

Reid handed the gift to Curly Head. “I have more.” He pulled other items out of the packs. Guns, ammunition, beads, high wine, cooking utensils, and cloth.

After Curly Head accepted all the gifts, they shared a pipe. Charlotte did her best to follow the custom, but Reid noticed she did not inhale the smoke. When the ceremony was complete, Curly Head spoke again. “I have worked with the North West men for many years.” His face lacked emotion as his words were interpreted.

“And we are thankful for your trade and friendship.”

“Fraser was a good man,” Curly Head continued. “But he left my daughter without a child of her own.”

Reid glanced at Jean-Paul. How could he apologize for Fraser’s lack of an offspring?

“But new traders have arrived.” Curly Head didn’t allow Reid to respond. Instead, he lifted his hand and pointed to several items, which Reid assumed were gifts from the XY men. “They promise good things to my people. And their bourgeois has asked to make Daanis his wife. It would be a good alliance for the new XY Company.”

He watched Reid’s face closely as the words were interpreted.

Reid tried not to let his anger or concern show. Who knew what lies Lachlan had told them or what promises he had made? He’d already shown Reid that he was ruthless with the burning of the North West Company post. What else was he capable of?

“I want my daughter to be happy,” the chief said. “But I do not know the other bourgeois or his people. I do not know their company or how long it will last. I know your people, and I trust your people.”

“We thank you for that trust and would like to keep it.”

The chief nodded. “My daughter will be given to you in marriage, and we will make a new alliance with your people. Does this please you?”

The interpreter shared the chief’s words, and Reid held his breath.

Charlotte sat as still as stone beside him.

No one spoke as the fire popped and sizzled.

Anger burned in Reid’s gut from seeing his brother and being reminded of his father’s abandonment. For some reason, his father had chosen Lachlan over Reid. The pain from that rejection squeezed Reid’s chest and made his head pound even more. When would his father’s choices no longer hurt? When would he finally have a chance to show his father that he was worth loving? Worth coming home for? If Lachlan won, it would prove to his father that Reid was unworthy of being called his son. He couldn’t let that happen.

If Reid didn’t marry Daanis and she was given to Lachlan, there was no way Reid could gain the trade. The People were loyal to their chief.

Yet he couldn’t take Daanis as his country wife. Not only had he promised his mother, but he had no wish to perpetuate his father’s sins.

More importantly, he had no wish to disappoint Charlotte.

Reid’s heart tore from being pulled in so many different directions.

Curly Head waited patiently, and Jean-Paul watched Reid closely. If Reid rejected her outright, the chief would be deeply insulted—something he wanted to avoid as well.

“My post was burned before I arrived,” Reid finally said.

“I have heard this.”

“I am rebuilding, but it is not yet ready.”

Curly Head didn’t respond.

Reid looked to Jean-Paul for wisdom. The man clasped his hands, his face grave. He also knew the need for this union—they all did. It wasn’t just Reid’s future on the line. The entire North West Company would suffer if they lost the trade with the Mississippi Band of Chippewa in the Folle Avoine District.

And Reid could almost guarantee that he’d lose his chance of being a shareholder.

Yet how could he dishonor his promise to his mother and himself?

The moment had come, and Reid was still uncertain—but he had to say something. “I canna consider your offer until my post is finished.” It was not what he wanted to say, but the fear of losing to Lachlan stopped him from refusing the chief completely.

Curly Head was known as a man of few words. He watched Reid closely, his face hard as he spoke. “You must rebuild. My daughter will help.”

Reid began to sweat, knowing his entire mission rested on this relationship. He couldn’t end it now.

“I canna bring a wife to an unfinished fort.” Reid hoped the chief would not grow angry and make a rash decision to give Daanis to Lachlan. “All of your people are welcome to visit, but I must work hard to have everything in place before winter.”

The chief revealed nothing, but then he finally nodded once. “I will keep my daughter in my tent until your post is ready. We will speak again.”

Reid let out a shallow breath. He should have said no and not given the chief hope, but he couldn’t bring himself to cut this tie. It was too important—vital for the company’s success. It wasn’t personal. It was a business alliance.

Yet, marriage wasn’t just business. It was a lifelong decision with repercussions that could affect generations.

Thankfully, he’d been given more time, but the reprieve would not last forever.