Page 20 of The Lady of Red River Valley (Ladies of the Wilderness #2)

Chapter Nine

T he winter drew on in cold, dark nights, and bright, bitter days.

As the calendar flipped from one month to the next, the snow fell for days at a time.

It gathered and blew on the prairie, until it was packed tight against the western stockade wall.

Anyone could have scaled the wall and climbed right into the fort without any trouble, though few people would hazard a trip out in the severe, unpredictable weather.

Semple had returned, and the colony had survived its first wave of illness, but the buffalo were still scarce, and the food supplies had started to dwindle, forcing them to ration.

Each day, the settlers were allowed one cup each of wheat and corn, two eggs per family, and the little milk they had was given to the children.

One afternoon in late February, Arran stood at the window inside the governor’s house and watched the activity in the fort yard.

Behind him, near the fireplace, Nicolette worked quietly, preparing the simple meal of bread they would eat that night.

There had not been any buffalo meat, and the pemmican had run out.

It would still be months before they could return to Fort Douglas and plant their crops.

Daily, he prayed for the buffalo to return.

Outside, the thermometer had taken a drastic dip and snow was falling, but the storm had not set in with a vengeance yet.

The door to the main hall burst open and a dozen children rushed out of the building, their small bodies bundled against the cold.

They ran to their respective cabins, laughing and teasing each other along the way.

Though things were dire, Arran thanked God that the colonists had begun to entrust their children to Eleanor’s teaching.

They had started to accept her after the dance, but it was Eleanor’s devoted care to them during the illness that had won them over completely.

Once Miriam was well, Eleanor had begun to visit the other sick families to administer help.

They began to see her as an important part of the colony, like the governor, the minister, and the doctors.

She was a liaison between the big house and the smaller cabins, asking for help from the governor and, in many cases, getting it.

A few minutes later, Eleanor appeared at the hall’s door, her Hudson’s Bay coat covering her body as she closed the door behind her and then turned toward the governor’s house.

She wore the hood over her head, and her pink skirts showed from under the bottom of her coat.

As she walked, her brown moccasins peeked out from beneath the hem of her dress.

The contrast between a fine European lady and a seasoned Red River colonist made him smile.

For the past three winters, boredom and monotony had been Arran’s greatest enemy—but this year had been different.

Each morning, when he opened his eyes, his heart pounded with the knowledge that he would see Eleanor at breakfast. Every afternoon, when he completed the tasks needed for the day, he began to turn his attention to the evening meal and the conversation he, Eleanor, Semple, and West would share around the supper table.

After supper, they played chess or cards, or Eleanor read aloud to them from the books she’d brought with her. There was never a boring or dull day with her in the house, and he was especially fond of the rare moments they had alone, though they were few and far between.

She had also planned weekly entertainments for the fort, bringing the Hudson’s Bay Company voyageurs and the colonists together into one community.

During the evening gatherings, the children recited their lessons, performed historical skits, or participated in spelling and trivia contests.

At Christmas, they had told the story of the Christ child born in Bethlehem and served sweet treats to those who attended.

Twice, she had planned a dance, and the adults had braved a storm to make it to the main hall both times.

Her very presence in the fort had brightened everyone’s winter and showed Arran that entertainment and fun might not be necessary for survival—but it made survival bearable, even enjoyable.

The others seemed to sense it, too, though he wondered if they felt the same quickening in their pulse when she appeared, or if the very thought of her kept them awake far into the night.

He watched Eleanor walk across the fort yard and opened the door for her even before she reached the house.

Her cheeks were glowing under the hood of her coat as she looked up at him and smiled. “Good afternoon,” she said.

He thought his heart might stop at the force of affection he felt for her. “How are you?”

“Cold, but good.”

Ever since the night he’d come into the house and found her fast asleep at the table, he could not forget holding her in his arms. She had weighed hardly anything, and the feel of her had awakened every one of his senses.

He had wanted nothing more than to hold her all night, wrapped in his embrace, covering her with his affection.

The desire had been so intense, it alarmed him.

If she had awakened, and allowed him to kiss her, he was afraid he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself.

So, he quickly placed her in her bed, covered her in a quilt, and then retreated from her room as if his life depended on it.

He had always been attracted to her and desired to hold her in his arms, but the longing to possess her, heart, body, and soul, was new and all-consuming.

In moments of weakness, such as this one, when his heart felt like it might burst with longing, he was tempted to throw all caution to the wind and declare himself to her—but when he allowed himself to let his mind wander down the road, and over the years, he always came to the final scene: Eleanor’s grave.

It was morbid and cynical, but he could not shake the fear that staying in Assiniboia would eventually lead to her untimely death.

And the fear of him being the cause of her death, as he’d been the cause of his mother’s, left him feeling bereft of heart.

He saw the same emotion mirrored in West’s eyes, when the minister spoke of his late wife.

Arran did not want to live with the grief the other man shouldered.

Even if Eleanor could not be by his side, the knowledge that she was safe and healthy, even across the ocean, would be far better than knowing she was dead.

“I told the children not to come to school tomorrow,” Eleanor said as she pulled her hood off her head and stepped into the house, wholly unaware of his wayward thoughts.

Snowflakes fell from her coat, and she rubbed her hands together to restore the heat.

“If this storm is anything like the others, we won’t be going anywhere for a day or two. ”

Arran took her coat and hung it on a hook, thanking the good Lord for the snowstorms that forced them to stay inside, in each other’s company.

“How is Miriam?” she asked.

“Fiona is feeding her now.”

“Wonderful.” She went to the fire and extended her hands to the heat. She smiled at Nicolette, who looked up from kneading her dough.

“You’re in a good mood,” Arran said as he took a seat at the table. His work for the day was complete and he had little else to occupy his time. Truth be told, he’d been counting down the hours until she returned from the school.

“Little Cora McCoy recited her lessons perfectly today.” Eleanor’s brown eyes sparkled with the news. “She has studied and worked so hard. I could not be prouder.”

Arran could hardly pick Cora McCoy out of a line of all the students, but he loved how much pleasure Eleanor took from her work. Her passion and dedication were contagious.

The bedroom door opened, and Fiona stepped out with the plump eight-month-old Miriam on her hip.

Upon seeing Eleanor, Miriam squealed in delight and reached toward her.

Fiona laughed and handed the baby to her rightful mother. “Nicolette tells me Miriam has been eating hominy and milk-soaked biscuits in the evening.”

Eleanor nodded. “She loves them, especially when we sweeten the milk just a bit.”

“She’ll be ready to wean sooner than later, if you can get her to drink some of the milk from a cup.

” Fiona was now visibly pregnant with her next child, and would no doubt be happy to complete her work as a wet nurse.

The woman had not complained once, but Arran imagined it was a great sacrifice for her and her family.

“We’ll begin working on it immediately,” Eleanor promised, bouncing Miriam on her hip, her eyes shining as she held the little girl close.

Fiona nodded and then took her leave.

“Why not start practicing now?” Eleanor asked Miriam, who just grinned.

Setting a blanket upon the floor, Eleanor put Miriam on her bottom and placed a few of the baby’s toys nearby. There was a favorite rag doll, which she promptly put into her mouth to chew on, a wooden rattle, and two tin plates, which she loved to bang together.

Arran never tired of watching the baby grow and discover the world around her.

She sat straight and grinned at him, and then wobbled, as if she might topple over.

He quickly righted her, taking a seat on the ground beside her.

Miriam clapped her hands and giggled, then she put her hands on the floor and popped up on her knees to crawl to Arran.

Her blond hair had begun to grow, and she had one curl on the top of her head, and a few by her neck.

Her blue eyes were changing, becoming as light as the sky on a crisp winter day.

Arran had never met Anne West, but Eleanor had told him often that the baby favored her mother.

He could only imagine that the minister’s wife had been a beautiful woman, if the baby was any indication.