15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
A week later, with the humidity gone, Charlotte could breathe again. Sunshine warmed her shoulders and brought a fresh wave of green to the valley. The clear blue sky was crisp, and the river flowed fast and true from the rain.
The night of the storm, Reid had finally come into their tent after the worst of it had eased and told Charlotte why Daanis had come. Charlotte had been relieved that Reid had not married Daanis, but she had said little to him about it then—or in the days that followed. After her own realization that evening, she had purposely put space between her and Reid, which wasn’t difficult. He was driven to complete his fort, working from sunup to sundown alongside his men, with little time for anything else.
Charlotte wondered why he worked so hard on the fort. Because the sooner he completed it, the sooner he would need to address the chief about Daanis again.
It wasn’t long before the bourgeois’s quarters were ready to be occupied and Reid was overseeing the addition of furniture, which his men had built for the trading room, the main living quarters, and the bedroom.
Charlotte had earlier overseen the placement of the cargo in the storage room and had spent all morning setting up the trading room—but she had not entered Reid’s quarters. She assumed she would have a place in the row house, but Reid had not shared his plans with her or invited her to see the progress.
Instead, she walked to the edge of the valley near her tent, her cassette in her hands, to write in her journal. There had been little time for such matters, but the shareholders would want a recording of their activities at the end of the year.
“Mr. Crawford.” Noemie called to Charlotte as she crossed the distance from the row house to where Charlotte sat. “The bourgeois has asked for you.”
Charlotte put her journal in her cassette and returned the box to her tent before joining Noemie.
“Isn’t it exciting?” the older woman asked. “Soon, the post will be finished, and we’ll have a celebration.”
Charlotte had heard rumors about a celebration, but Reid had not shared those details with her either.
“Reid has promised a party, unlike anything this country has ever seen,” Noemie rambled, “to celebrate the completion of the post.” She bent to speak in a conspiratorial voice. “I also wonder if he’ll announce a marriage between him and Daanis as well. He has been working very hard to finish the fort, and I know she is anxious to come.”
Dread thudded in Charlotte’s chest. Daanis had returned to the fort twice since the night of the storm, and she had spoken to Reid on both occasions, though Charlotte had purposely not asked him about the visits.
Had they reached an agreement? One Reid had not told her about?
“I might make a match for Reid yet,” Noemie said with a twinkle in her eyes.
How could Reid withstand Daanis’s, Curly Head’s, Jean-Paul’s, and Noemie’s prodding?
“Don’t look so forlorn, Charlie Crawford,” Noemie said as she misunderstood Charlotte’s morose. “Maybe we will finally find a young maiden for you at the celebration. There will be many to choose from.”
Charlotte steered the conversation away from Noemie’s matchmaking and toward the row house. Half the men worked on the building, while another half buried the posts that made the picket stockade. There would be bulwarks in the front corners for defense and a wide gate to be closed when they were not open for trading.
There were a few cabins being built behind the row house and one was for Jean-Paul and Noemie. It was only a one-room home, but Noemie was proud as could be and continued to chatter about having a cabin all her own. It wasn’t hard to turn her attention away from matchmaking to other matters.
Finally, they arrived at the row house, and Noemie motioned toward the center. “He’s in his living quarters.”
Half the row house stood complete, with walls, a roof, and oiled paper for windows. Two heavy doors faced Charlotte, one to enter the bourgeois’s living space and the other to enter the trading room. Charlotte opened the one leading into the living space, and it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness.
Straight ahead, a fireplace dominated the far wall, with an iron crane for cooking over the flames. A rough-hewn cupboard was close by with metal pots and pans, clay bowls, and silver utensils. In the middle of the room, a table sat with four generous chairs tucked in around it. The floors and walls were made of wide planks, and the rafters overhead were ready to store more goods.
Two windows flanked the door, and under each, there was a desk. One for Reid—and one for his clerk. His desk already held his cassette. She walked to the other desk and stared down at a stack of paper and a box of charcoals.
Where in the world had they come from?
“Do you like your gift?” Reid’s voice came from behind her.
He stood in the doorway leading into his sleeping quarters, his coat gone, and his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“Where did you get the charcoal pencils?” she asked.
“At Grand Portage. I planned to give them to you when we arrived—but other things garnered my attention.”
Charlotte ran her fingertips down the length of the box, debating if she should accept his gift—but she could not refuse. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He stepped aside and indicated that she should join him in his sleeping quarters. “I have another surprise for you.”
Curious, she walked across the room and discovered that the door led into a hallway—and not his bedroom. It was about ten feet long and had a door at the opposite end. There were also two other doors, about halfway down the hall, that faced one another.
“The door at the end leads to the storage room and trading room,” Reid told her, “so you dinna need to go outside when it gets cold.”
“That’s very thoughtful.”
“The door on the right is my room. And the other one is your private sleeping quarters.” He smiled, watching her closely. “You willna have to brave another storm under a tent, lass. If I could have built it faster for you, I would have.”
He’d worked night and day for her? Not Daanis? Charlotte bit her bottom lip to stop it from trembling. Affection for this man filled her to overflowing, and she had to turn away from him, lest he see how his words had impacted her.
He opened the door to her left and she found a small room, about eight feet by ten feet, with an oiled paper window, a narrow bed with a grass tick, several hooks on the wall, and a cane chair.
“’Tis nothing like you deserve. But I hope you’ll be comfortable.”
She was so touched by his gift she struggled to find the words. “It’s perfect.”
“So you like it?”
“I do. Thank you, Reid.”
A smile lit his face, and he seemed very pleased with himself. “Feel free to move your things in here and make it your own. I have work to do with the men on the other side of the row house.” He moved away but stopped, his hand on the doorframe. “I am looking forward to having the fort finished soon. I’ve missed spending time with you, lass.”
Was that the other reason he had been pushing himself to finish so soon? He missed her?
She missed him, too, more than she could ever admit, and she had to work hard to hide her emotions as she asked, “How much longer until the fort is complete?”
“At least three weeks.”
She wanted to ask him what would happen with Daanis once the fort was ready, but it wasn’t her concern—and she was afraid of what he might say.
“You can start cooking in the fireplace tonight, if you’d like,” he said.
“I might not know how. I’ve only cooked over an open campfire.” She tried to smile and match his good mood.
He grinned, and her heart expanded at the sight of it. She loved to make him happy, loved how he looked when his countenance was light.
“I’ll make something special. As a way to thank you.”
“You dinna need to thank me.” His smile did not dim. “But I’ll finish my work early tonight to enjoy your meal.”
With that, he left, and Charlotte stood in her room for several minutes, soaking in the newness of the row house. Her window looked at the back of the stockade, and if she could see through the oiled paper, she would have a view of Jean-Paul and Noemie’s cabin site, with the tall trees and blue sky beyond the stockade.
She should be pleased to be inside, where she would be safe from storms, but she couldn’t deny how much she’d miss the tent and the time they’d spent there together.
Despite her resolve to keep distance between her and Reid, he had found a crack in her weak facade. With his care and thoughtfulness, he’d opened her heart wide again.
In the future, especially with the privacy the row house provided, she would have to be more diligent to keep him out.
It felt good to eat a meal sitting at a table again with Charlotte. She had used the store of flour Reid was allotted and had made fresh biscuits to go with the roasted venison one of the hunters had recently brought in. She’d also found squash from the garden and had baked it and then mashed it with a bit of maple sugar.
Reid had worked long and hard that day, but all his troubles washed away as he sat across from Charlotte. A single candle on the table flickered, highlighting her high cheekbones, wide mouth, and expressive brown eyes. But the candle also revealed something he didn’t like to see. There was hesitation in her gaze, as if she was uncertain or even wary.
Since the night of the storm, or even perhaps their kiss, something had changed between them. He wasn’t sure what it was, or why it had begun. He was anxious to speak to her about it, afraid he had done something to disappoint her, and longed to ease the tension so they could return to the camaraderie they’d had from the start.
“Have you moved all your things?”
“There wasn’t much to move.” She took a small bite of squash, not looking up from her plate.
“Do you need anything?”
She shook her head.
He couldn’t bear this awkwardness. One of the things he loved about Charlotte was their ease of conversation and the comfort he took in her friendship.
“What’s bothering you?” he finally asked.
She pushed her food around her plate with her fork and didn’t meet his gaze. “The fort is almost complete.”
“Aye.” Was she unhappy with the row house? He’d worked hard to get it ready for her, and she’d seemed very pleased with it earlier that day. Her joy was the thing that had kept him going until supper.
“I’ve heard there is to be a party.”
Was it the party that bothered her—or was she trying to change the subject? “’Tis customary to have a party to celebrate the completion of a fort. Do you not want one?”
She nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment. “Will Curly Head come?”
“I hope so.”
“And his daughter?” She finally met his gaze, the uncertainty palpable. “Will she be there as well?”
“Aye,” he said slowly. “Daanis will be there.”
“I suppose she’ll be wearing the pretty gown you gave her.”
Realization dawned, and he couldn’t help but smile. “Are you jealous, lass?”
Was that what had come between them? Was Charlotte jealous of Daanis? Memories of the night they’d kissed in the river resurfaced, and his heart pounded hard. He knew Charlotte cared for him, but he didn’t allow himself to think about how much she might care.
Indignation rose in her face, and she sat up straighter. “Of course I’m not jealous.”
He didn’t believe her, and her reaction pleased him.
A sudden pounding came at the door.
Before Reid could rise to answer, the door crashed open. Jacques Doucette stood on the threshold, breathing deeply. Reid stood, his pulse thumping hard at the panic he saw in Jacques’s eyes. The voyageur was new to Reid, but he was young and strong and had proved to be sober and levelheaded.
“What’s wrong?” Reid asked.
“It’s the men.” Jacques spoke in French. “They have gone to the XY post and stolen back their wives.”
Reid was not a man who cursed, but he was tempted to give way now. For over a week, there had been almost no contact with the XY men, and he preferred to keep it that way. The only task the North West men had was to win the trade. It would not serve them well to make war with their rivals, yet that was exactly what would happen if they behaved so boorishly.
Reid didn’t wait for any other information but stormed into the night.
Charlotte rushed out of the row house to follow. He wanted to tell her to stay inside, but it was the right of the assistant clerk to attend to such matters. He’d kept her from many tasks a clerk was usually responsible for, and he didn’t want the others to start to notice.
A commotion near the voyageurs’ campfires mingled with the cry of a baby. Six additional women and at least a dozen children of varying ages were among the overturned canoes and campfires.
Two women were in physical altercations with their former husbands, fighting to get away, while the others sat or stood around the fires cautiously watching. Children huddled against their mother’s skirts, and only one child was clearly happy in his father’s arms.
“Who is responsible for this?” Reid demanded when he entered the light of the first campfire.
One of the women used Reid’s interruption to break free, and she ran away from the gathering, toward the darkness. The man she’d been fighting with ran after her, but Reid called him to halt.
“Let her go,” he thundered.
The voyageur stopped, turning murderous eyes on Reid. “I have my rights!”
Reid ignored him. “I will ask again. Who is responsible for this?”
“I am.” Andre was the tallest of the voyageurs and the most competitive. When he wasn’t working, he was organizing contests of strength, agility, or skill. He squared off now, facing Reid with his hands on his hips. “The XY men stole our women, so we went and stole them back.”
These men knew the custom of the country just as Reid did. They knew these women had the choice to come or go at will, and if they went, it was their decision. “As your bourgeois, I demand that you let these women go.” His anger boiled from a place deep within. Wasn’t Charlotte running from a man who would force her to marry him if he could reach her? “If I hear you are keeping them here against their will, you will be taken into custody and brought to the district manager at Fond du Lac for punishment.”
He spoke in French, knowing that all the men would understand—and some of the women.
Charlotte stood on the outer fringe of the campfire light, quietly watching—but Reid kept her within his peripheral vision. If something went wrong, she’d be the first he’d protect.
“I will not have you bring more wrath against our post.” How could he stress the importance of focusing their energy on their work and not on fighting? He’d tried—daily—but it seemed to fall on deaf ears.
“Maybe it’s the XY men who have brought wrath upon their post,” Andre said. “They destroyed our home and stole our women.” His voice burned with indignation and fury. “We are weak if we do not take back what is ours.”
“We are not weak.” Reid took a step toward Andre. “We are wise.”
Andre took the wrist of his Indian wife and hauled her to her feet. “ I am strong.”
The woman winced at being handled in such a way. It was clear she was with child, though whose baby she would bear might be a mystery—maybe even to her—but she was in no condition to be treated that way.
Reid took another step closer to Andre while addressing the woman in her native Chippewa tongue. “Do you want to be with Andre?”
Fear lined the edges of her eyes and mouth, and she shook her head in a barely discernible movement.
“Do you wish to return to your other man?”
This time she nodded.
“Then you may go, and if Andre bothers you again, he will face punishment.”
She tried to pull away from Andre’s hold, but he would not give her up so easily.
“I fought for her, and she is mine,” Andre said. “She and my children were mine many years before the XY men showed up.”
Reid could think of a great many things that were his before the XY men appeared—namely his father. Hadn’t Reid’s father been his before he learned of Lachlan McCoy presence in the world?
“No.” Reid placed his hand over Andre’s and began to pry his fingers loose. “She has the right to come and go. She is not your property.” He gritted his teeth as Andre refused to budge. Reid had been forced to take other men into custody, but he hated how it divided the loyalty of the men. “Unhand her, or I have no choice but to arrest you.”
The woman cowered, holding her swollen stomach with her free hand.
Finally, Andre let her loose. Thankfully, Reid was close enough to catch her, or she would have fallen into the dirt.
“This is not the end,” Andre said to Reid. “I will have what is mine, one way or another.”
“If you try to take her again, against her will, you will have to answer to me.” Reid stood his ground. “Who else would like to leave?” he asked the women and children. “I’ll escort you back myself.”
Three of the remaining women stepped forward, their children in tow.
Reid didn’t speak for a moment as he looked at each man in turn. “None of you are allowed to visit the XY post without my consent, do I make myself clear?”
Several of the men nodded, though Andre jutted his jaw and refused to agree with Reid.
“If anyone goes there without my consent, you will immediately be suspended from your work and will be transported to Fond du Lac.” His gaze landed on Charlotte, who watched him with little expression.
“I want everyone to return to their campfires,” Reid said. “Jacques and I will take these women to their home.”
As the women gathered their children and the men begrudgingly returned to their campfires, Reid stepped over to Charlotte. “Return to the row house. I dinna want you out here with these men and you canna come with me.”
She nodded and was about to turn away, when she faced him again, concern etching the lines around her mouth. “Be careful.”
He would be careful—if not for himself, then for her. He didn’t like to think about what might happen to Charlotte if something happened to him.