Page 4 of The Lady of Red River Valley (Ladies of the Wilderness #2)
Chapter Two
T he stifling August sunshine beat against Arran’s back as he lowered another log into the groove that had been notched in the corner post. Holding the opposite end of the log, James McIntosh watched to make sure it was placed correctly.
The method, called pièce sur pièce, had allowed them to rebuild half a dozen settlement houses without nails in the six weeks since Colony Gardens had been burned.
“I expect the colonists to return from Jack River House any day,” James said as he stepped back to admire his work after the log was in place.
This was the last portion of the wall to finish before they could start on the roof.
The cabins were not large, but they would act as protection for the settlers when they returned.
“Aye.” Arran lifted his canteen and took a long swig.
The tepid water did not refresh him, but it did ease his thirst. He took the opportunity to scan the prairie, always alert for the threat of attack.
They’d had relative peace since June, but he could never let down his guard.
No doubt the Bois-Br?lés were regrouping and waiting for Duncan Cameron, the bourgeois of the North West Company fur post at Fort Gibraltar, to return from Montreal.
He’d gone there to take Governor Macdonell to trial, as well as guide the hundred and fifty settlers he had convinced to abandon Assiniboia for good.
“I wish we could have all the houses ready when they return.”
With the aid of the thirty voyageurs who had come from Jack River House in response to Arran’s call for help, and the dozen or more mixed-race men they’d employed from a village upriver, they had managed to rebuild some of the cabins, erect several fences, and maintain the crops that had been planted earlier that spring.
They had also cut and stacked the mature hay and repaired some of the buildings that had not been completely destroyed.
The first bumper crop of wheat was turning golden in the fields along the banks of the Red River, and if all went well, they would have a decent yield of corn to add to the storehouse.
“Everyone will be pleased to see that not all was lost.” James bent to lift the next log they would slip into place. “The colony continues.”
Arran picked up the opposite end and lifted it high over his head to put it into the groove.
His shirt was wet with perspiration and the scars on his hands were sore from chopping and preparing the logs.
As soon as the log was in place, he flexed his hands and rubbed the deepest scar between his right thumb and forefinger.
A greeting call came from the riverbank and a gun fired from Fort Douglas in response.
“It looks like we willna have to wait much longer.” James grinned and set the log in place, shaking it to make sure it was secure.
Arran lifted his canteen and picked up the few tools he’d brought with him from the fort.
He also grabbed his musket, which was his constant companion, and set it over his shoulder.
Their horses were tethered just behind the cabin, munching on the tall prairie grass.
After putting their tools into their saddlebags, and their muskets into holders, they mounted their horses and rode for Fort Douglas.
A line of clouds marred the western horizon as Arran pushed Tiberius across the expanse between the gardens and the fort, skirting the back edge of the river.
From where he sat in his saddle, he could see the canoes gliding to a stop at the foot of Point Douglas.
Six canoes in all, each carrying eight or nine colonists and more Hudson’s Bay Company voyageurs.
They would have news from Jack River House and would be full of questions about the situation at Assiniboia.
Arran himself had questions he could not answer, though he’d done his best to oversee the work of the colony.
He’d sent runners with letters addressed to Lord Selkirk.
One letter he’d sent north, toward Hudson Bay, and the other he’d sent east, toward Montreal.
If one of them was intercepted by the Nor’westers, then hopefully the other would get to the colony’s founder.
Even though Lord Selkirk was in Scotland, he must be made aware of the grave danger the settlers faced.
If something wasn’t done soon, Arran was concerned all would be lost.
Old John had been left at the fort while the others had been working. The seasoned fur trader now opened the stockade gates wide to allow Arran and James to enter.
The fort was large, housing several buildings, including the governor’s two-story home, the barn, the blacksmith, the main hall, and the Hudson’s Bay Company row house and store. At two corners, opposite each other, were lookout towers, and around the whole was a tall stockade.
“Is it Colin Robertson and the settlers from Jack River House?” Arran asked as he slid off his horse to the ground, certain it could be no other.
“Aye.” Old John’s eyes glowed and Arran didn’t wonder why. No doubt Widow MacDougal would be among the settlers. “I hope they’ve not had any trouble coming up the Red.”
There had been so little to smile about lately, it did Arran good to slap his friend on the back and smile now. “I hope the same. It will be good to see some of our friends again.”
Old John grinned. “I’m happy they’re home.”
Home.
The word made Arran pause as he led Tiberius into the barn.
Was Assiniboia home? He’d come to the Red River district from Nova Scotia as a fifteen-year-old clerk for the North West Company.
For eight years, he’d labored along the banks of the Red River, working tirelessly to gain respect and admiration from the senior partners, hoping to become a wintering partner himself.
But Duncan Cameron had other plans. Within two years of entering the Red River district, he’d ruined Arran’s good name and reputation by accusing him of stealing.
Instead of advancing to a wintering partner, Arran had left the North West Company in disgrace, and traveled to Scotland, where he’d started to work as Lord Selkirk’s agent.
He’d been hired because of his familiarity with the Red River Valley and his desire to see it colonized.
Lord Selkirk’s promise of land and money, if he kept the colony alive for five years, was a bonus.
It helped that he’d been born in Inverness and still had relations in the area.
He’d spent a year trying to recruit settlers for the colony, and in between his trips to the Highlands, he’d been a guest in Lord Selkirk’s home at St. Mary’s Isle on the southwestern coast of Scotland.
It had been there, in the fairytale-like gardens and moonlit evenings, that Arran had met and fallen in love with Lady Selkirk’s cousin, Lady Eleanor Brooke.
Arran had thought that the Red River was his home until he’d met Eleanor.
But when he’d returned to the district three years ago, without her by his side, he had felt adrift on the open prairie.
Not a day went by that he didn’t think about the lass he’d left behind, or the single letter she’d sent to him.
Her words had been full of regret and longing, yet he’d realized they were just words and meant nothing to him anymore.
His wounds had still been too fresh to respond with any sort of decorum.
Instead, he’d written her the harsh truth.
He’d made a mistake. He should have never proposed.
She wasn’t strong enough for this life of conflict and degradation.
He’d ended the letter by telling her to forget about him and to leave his proposal in the past, where it belonged.
He had severed all ties with Lady Eleanor Brooke and tried to forget about her. His home was here in Assiniboia now.
So why was she always at the forefront of his thoughts?
“Do you think Old John will finally propose to the Widow MacDougal?” James led his horse into the stall in the fort’s barn and then lifted a currycomb from a hook.
Arran shrugged. “Who will perform the ceremony, if he does?” There hadn’t been a minister in the colony since the first year. No ministers or teachers. There had been two physicians, but they had been pushed out with the colonists who were hopefully returning from Jack River House now.
“Mayhap they’ll marry in à la facon du pays .” James gave each of the horses a scoop of precious grain, a mischievous grin on his face.
Marriage in à la facon du pays, or in the custom of the country, was a common arrangement between European fur traders and their Indian or mixed-race wives.
It wasn’t a legal contract and was not done with vows, but in the consensual agreement of both parties.
It could also be abandoned by either partner, at any time, without warning.
“I dinna think Mrs. MacDougal would approve.” Arran hung the harnesses and then left the barn with James by his side. “She might desire something a wee bit more legal.”
The storm in the west was fast approaching, blotting out the last rays of sunshine and bringing darkness to the edges of the prairie.
The wind picked up, pushing against Arran’s back.
He did not like the look of it and wished to get the settlers into the fort.
The storms in Assiniboia could be relentless and destructive.
Old John was already at the bottom of the point, helping Mrs. MacDougal from the canoe she occupied. She took his hand in hers and looked up at him as if she’d never seen anything so wonderful in all her life.
The familiar faces of the settlers were like a balm to Arran’s weary soul, and when they saw all that had been done to perpetuate the colony’s success in their absence, there were tears of joy.