14. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
H ours after they returned from Curly Head’s village, Charlotte sat near the cold fire pit, her cassette before her. Pulling a fresh sheet of paper from the box, she set it on top and lifted her pencil. She wanted to capture the image of the women and children working in the large garden that had thankfully not been disturbed by the XY men. The men building the Crow Wing post, which was now known as Fort McCoy, were also in her sight. Log poles had been buried at all four corners and every ten feet along the exterior walls of the row house. There were several more weeks of work to be done on the building and stockade, but the bourgeois’s rooms should be ready within the week.
Reid had said very little on their walk back to the fort. When they had arrived, he changed into his work clothes and left her without a word. She had wanted to ask if he was pleased with how things had gone, but it was evident that he was not. The tension in the wigwam had been so thick that Charlotte had fairly suffocated from the displeasure of both parties. Not only was Curly Head disappointed, but Jean-Paul had also been angry.
From where she sat near the tent, she saw Jean-Paul approach Reid and lead him away from the other men. She could not hear what they said, but it was clear that Jean-Paul was questioning his bourgeois—something that was not often done, and for good reason. Reid’s back was stiff, and he shook his head once, indicating their conversation had ended. He walked away from Jean-Paul and disappeared around the building.
Charlotte wanted to keep her mind off the chief and his daughter, so she ran her pencil on the surface of the paper, laying the foundation for the fort. After the walls and roof were on, they would build rock fireplaces in four of the rooms, which would offer much-needed heat for the winter months and a way to cook their meals. Charlotte had never cooked a meal for herself until she’d joined Reid’s brigade, but now she was adept and found she enjoyed food preparation.
Birds chirped high in the trees, and squirrels scampered on the ground. There was still no wind and the air was sticky, but she wouldn’t complain. She’d weathered worse on the trip here and liked the heat better than the cold.
“Are you drawing again?”
Charlotte jumped at the sudden appearance of Reid, and her pencil slid across the paper, ruining the picture she’d been creating. For some reason, embarrassment warmed her cheeks at being caught in an idle activity. She started to put away the drawing, but Reid stopped her with a hand to her shoulder.
“Dinna stop on my account.” He squatted next to her and looked at her drawing. “’Tis a bonnie likeness you’ve given to the bairn and his mither.” He pointed at one of the babies in her drawing.
Even though he’d given her permission to continue, she still slipped the paper away and stood to begin supper.
“I ken you’re unhappy with the way I handled the meeting today.” Reid also stood, his shoulders drooping under his unseen burdens.
Did he think she’d criticize him as Jean-Paul had?
“It is not my place to question you.” She bent to start the fire, but he again squatted next to her and took the flint and steel from her hands.
She had been disappointed that he hadn’t been firm with the chief concerning Daanis, but Reid was in charge of his own affairs. As soon as Stephen came for her, Charlotte would never see Reid again.
A prospect that tightened her throat every time she considered it.
“Jean-Paul is unhappy because I dinna accept the chief’s offer, but I dinna ken what else to do.” He struck the steel against the flint several times until a spark landed in the kindling. “I’m here to get the trade. If I had said no, then I should pack up and leave, as Lachlan said.”
“Don’t give up now.” Charlotte wished she could put her hand on his shoulder to offer comfort. “But you don’t need to give in either.”
“I have bought some time, but I’m afraid I gave the chief false hope.” He put more kindling on the fire and blew until it was ablaze. “I’ve only prolonged the issue until the fort is built.”
“Do you think Daanis wants to marry you?”
Reid shrugged as he looked into the flame. “She probably has no choice. ’Tis clear the chief desires an alliance with the North West Company. ’Tis the only reason he hasn’t given her to Lachlan. I’m glad of that.”
Daanis’s and Charlotte’s situations were not entirely different. Charlotte had been given no choice when it came to marrying Roger. If she hadn’t escaped, she’d face a similar fate as Daanis —marrying a man she did not choose. Did Daanis want to be the wife of another fur trader? Had anyone asked her?
A low rumble in the distance brought both their heads up, and Charlotte spied a wall cloud on the western horizon. Panic formed in her chest, and she had to swallow the fear back down.
They were in for another storm, and there was very little to protect them.
Supper was hardly over before the first clap of thunder shook the ground. Its noise filled the valley and rushed up to the campfire where Reid and Charlotte put away their dishes.
“Go inside, lass,” Reid said, knowing how the summer storms frightened her. “I’ll finish here.”
She winced at the lightning. “Are you certain?”
“Aye.”
She didn’t argue but went into the tent as the first few drops hit his head.
Reid finished putting away the last of the dishes and turned back to the fire, glancing briefly at the sky.
Lightning flashed again, and another clap of thunder filled the thick air. Hopefully this storm would clear the humidity and allow them some comfort—without doing damage.
A figure suddenly appeared at the edge of the campfire. Reid frowned, irritated that he’d have to deal with another issue. As the bourgeois, though, he had little choice, even on a stormy night such as this. On any given day, it could be as serious as a physical fight between a voyageur and his country wife or as simple as a dispute over a game of cards.
But it wasn’t a voyageur who approached. A woman walked up to Reid’s fire. He stared in disbelief and confusion as Daanis stood before him, her beautiful face illuminated by the flickering flames. She was a breathtaking sight to behold, especially with the wind whipping her unbound hair around her shoulders. It pulled at her dress and tossed the tassels of her shawl.
She was the last person he’d expected to see.
“What can I do for you?” he asked with a thick voice. Was she in trouble? Did she or her father need assistance?
Daanis glanced toward the unfinished fort. They had made some progress on the row house, but it still looked like a scar on the earth. “My father spoke to me when you left.” Her English was practically flawless. “He says I will marry you when the fort is complete.”
Reid tensed at the announcement. A mosquito stung his hand, and he slapped it, then flicked the frustrating insect aside. “I told your father I would speak to him when the fort is finished, but I dinna make any promises.”
Daanis met his gaze through the flames. “I lived here once before,” she said calmly, as if the storm wasn’t pushing and pulling at her from every angle.
“Aye.” He moved closer to hear her over the wind. “With Fraser.”
“We had a good life, until he left.”
Why was she telling him these things? “Why have you come, lass?” he finally asked. “Do you need something?”
Lightning flashed, followed by a burst of thunder. Reid flinched. The wind picked up strength, and the rain started to fall harder. They should be inside a shelter, but she didn’t seem to notice or care.
“Are you not pleased with me?” Her eyes finally showed a hint of insecurity. “We waited all spring and summer for your arrival—and now you do not like what you find?”
It was just as he’d feared. He’d insulted her by not accepting her father’s offer. Had she come all the way from her village to hear it from his own mouth? What would drive a woman into a stormy night to seek approval from a stranger? Was she that desperate to marry Reid—or was she simply desperate to please her father and find some security?
Empathy for this young woman wedged its way inside Reid’s heart, and for the first time since hearing about her, he finally saw her as more than a means to an end. She was a woman with few choices, desperate to survive in a world that cared little for her. Her plight was so much like Charlotte’s, how could he not care?
“’Tis not a matter of liking you,” he said. “I am not ready for a wife.”
She stood before him, her gown speckled from the rain. “I will stay and be your wife.” She nodded. “My father desires this for me. He trusts your people.”
“You’re getting wet, lass.” He approached her. “I will take you to Jean-Paul and Noemie’s tent, and you can stay the night with them. I’ll return you to your village in the morn.”
She put her hands on his arms and stopped him, desperation in her eyes. “Will you have me? It would please my father.”
It might please her father, but would it please her? Had she come because she wanted to be his wife or because it was her father’s wish?
He squinted, confused by her appearance and her plight, though part of him was pleased that she was choosing him over Lachlan. But he didn’t want to hurt her nor give her a reason to hope. And now was not the time to discuss such a serious subject. “Not now, lass.”
Disappointment filled her gaze as rain spattered against the fire, making it sizzle. It smoked and smoldered as the light faded.
“We will speak of this another time,” he assured her. “I must get you to safety.”
The rain began to fall in torrential waves, pummeling against them with abandon.
Charlotte opened the flap of the tent and called to him. Surprise splayed across her face when she saw Daanis.
“I will take Daanis to Noemie and be back soon,” he yelled, hoping his words would be heard over the storm.
He didn’t have time to wait for Charlotte’s response. Instead, he led Daanis toward the tent on the opposite end of the valley. The storm intensified, whipping the trees and thrashing against the canvas tents. Streams of water rushed down the hill toward the river. Under the overturned canoes, the voyageurs would weather the storm as best as they could, though they would be as wet as if they were uncovered.
Hail began to pound the earth as Reid and Daanis arrived at Jean-Paul and Noemie’s tent. The couple was shocked to see them standing in the storm and immediately invited them in.
Charlotte would be alone and frightened—and very confused. Reid wanted to race back across the valley to reassure her but could not take the risk of leaving the fragile shelter of Jean-Paul’s tent.
The wind thrashed and the hail pummeled against the fabric, threatening to tear holes in the musty canvas above her head. Charlotte lay awake on her cot, her heart pounding and her body trembling from the force of the storm. Lightning lit the interior of the space, and she was reminded that Reid was not on his cot, his reassuring presence making her feel safe. Instead, he was somewhere in the storm with Daanis.
Why had the chief’s daughter come, and where had Reid taken her? He’d yelled something, but she hadn’t heard him, and he’d turned away before she could ask. It seemed unlikely that he’d take her back to her village in the rain, but where else could they have gone? Would he come back tonight? What if he was hurt?
She hated being alone, especially during the storm. Just like she’d been alone during those frightening days on the ship and before that in her room at Blissfield Manor when she lay awake, afraid of Roger. She’d been desperate to escape. Yes, she’d found protection with Reid, but after five and a half months of running, was she truly safe? If Stephen was dead and did not come, or if Roger found her before she could marry Stephen, she would be forced to return to England with her guardian—and all of this would be for naught.
Was Daanis just as desperate as Charlotte? Was that why she had come out in this storm? The thought of seeing her and Reid standing together, of Daanis clinging to Reid’s arms near the smoldering fire, made her heart hammer uncontrollably.
Charlotte sat up, her throat tight with fear. What if Daanis had come to change Reid’s mind? He’d been so uncertain today—could the beautiful woman convince him he needed her, after all? What if he took Daanis as his country wife? Was that where they had gone, to speak to her father?
Jealousy and panic waged an ugly battle in her heart. She told herself that none of it mattered—that Reid was free to do as he pleased. But the truth was that it did matter—a great deal—because Charlotte had fallen in love with Reid McCoy. And had probably been in love with him for a long time.
The realization brought on unexpected tears—especially knowing that he was somewhere out there with Daanis. She lay down on her side and pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them tight. The tears ran down the side of her face and dripped into her hair, but she didn’t wipe them away.
There was no sense in loving Reid. It would only make things more difficult when she had to leave him.
A bolt of lightning filled the sky as another crash of thunder reverberated across the earth.
As she lay on her cot, she had to believe that God had brought her this far for a reason—and it couldn’t be to fall in love with Reid. She had come to marry Stephen, risking everything to get to him. She forced herself to believe that in time she would grow to love him the way she loved Reid. It was the only way to bear the pain that tightened her chest. She was doing God’s will, wasn’t she? But if she was in the middle of His will, then why did it hurt so much? Did that mean she wasn’t doing His will? Had He abandoned her in this wilderness?
Confusion and fear mingled with the thrashing wind. She buried her head under her blanket, trying to drown out the sound of the storm and her doubts.
Memories of the Bible stories she’d read as a child returned to her, and she realized that most of the people in the middle of God’s will had suffered. Joseph in prison, Moses trying to convince Pharaoh to let the Israelites go. Ruth and Naomi when they were widowed. Esther in the king’s palace, unsure if her entire race of people would be destroyed. Each of those people had been serving God and crying out for His divine will—even while they suffered. Could Charlotte be like those people? Could her suffering be part of God’s divine plan for her life? Could it somehow prepare her for what God had in store, just as it had prepared all those other people?
A small measure of reassurance filled her heart. Maybe disappointment and heartache didn’t mean that God had abandoned her. Maybe it meant that He was closer than ever, working out a plan she didn’t see or understand. One for her good and His glory.
Though the thought offered a bit of comfort, it didn’t take away the pain.
The hail ceased, but the rain and wind continued to shake the tent. She didn’t want to think about Reid, so she turned her thoughts to Stephen, just as she’d done on the long voyage across the ocean, before her heart had been captured by the handsome Scottish fur trader. What might Stephen look like now? How might he have changed? Now that she’d been in the fur trade for several months, she had a better understanding of how he lived and what occupied his time, making it easier to picture him.
As she tried to conjure up an image of her intended, praying he was still alive, she started to imagine him tall and broad-shouldered, with dark brown hair and matching brown eyes. And for some reason, he no longer had an English accent—but a Scottish brogue.
Of course, none of those things reminded her of the young blond-haired, blue-eyed Stephen Corning of her childhood. It wasn’t fair to compare him to Reid. Stephen was a good, faithful friend, and he was the one she had chosen. He was the reason she had come and met Reid to begin with.
If she wanted to love Stephen one day, then she would need to start saying goodbye to Reid now, and the only way she could think to do that was to put distance between them. They had become good friends and shared far too much with one another. That would have to end.
It was the only hope she had of preserving her heart.