Page 42 of The Lady of Red River Valley (Ladies of the Wilderness #2)

Chapter Eighteen

A s the miles spread between Eleanor and Arran, she had to force herself to take one breath after the other.

Exhaustion wore on her tender emotions, but she could not weep any longer.

She would not weep any longer. Now was not the time for hysterics or sentimentality.

She had a baby to care for and a group of settlers to rally.

Yet, her heart cried out for the man she loved. Would she ever see him on this side of eternity again? Would he get a fair trial, or would he be sentenced without so much as a word of protest? Arran was a fighter, but was this battle now too big for him to win?

And worst of all, McLeod might use Eleanor’s written words to convict Arran. The loss of her journal was like losing her best friend. One more thing to mourn in a long succession of defeats.

Panic threatened and dread tried to take a foothold, but she held it at bay with sheer determination.

She would be strong for Arran and Miriam.

She would fight just as hard as he, for just as long as it would take.

She could not give up hope—not even for a moment.

Because if she did, she was afraid that despair would wrap its icy grip on her heart and never let go.

The river was smooth as the voyageurs paddled in their steady rhythm.

They were close to the mouth of the river and would soon enter Lake Winnipeg.

Despite what Arran had said, she knew she was the cause of their calamity.

If she hadn’t been ill, they would have entered the lake much sooner and had the opportunity to take a different course.

Guilt assailed her, and each time she met the bedraggled gazes of her fellow passengers, she couldn’t help but blame herself for their lack of leadership.

But it was the threat to Arran and the other five men that weighed the heaviest upon her.

How long might it be before she heard from Arran again? It could be months—or years—or never.

“He’s gotten himself out of worse situations before,” Old John said to Eleanor as he patted her hand. “He’ll be back, ye’ll see.”

“Truly?” Eleanor asked. “Has he been in worse situations?”

Old John’s eyes were a cloudy blue and the wrinkles in his skin were deep.

Several days’ worth of gray stubble was on his chin and his hair was thin, but the kindness in his face made him appear precious to her.

“I wish it were true—but I have faith in him and in God. Dinna give up praying for a miracle, lass. We will see him again. And, in the meantime, the missus and I will care for ye and Miriam like ye were our own.”

“And I will care for you,” she said, thankful for the sweet man at her side. “Arran and I are blessed to call you a friend.”

Without Arran or James, the settlers now turned to Old John as their leader. He had lived in the Red River Valley for years and was well-versed in the lay of the land.

Finally, they left the marshland around the Red River and entered Lake Winnipeg just before sunset.

They continued for a bit longer and found a place to make camp on a sandy beach.

Several voyageurs came to assist Eleanor and Nicolette as they set up Arran’s tent for their use.

Old John pitched his tent nearby and Isla helped with Miriam as Nicolette prepared their supper.

“I do not know what I would do without all of you,” Eleanor said to her small makeshift family.

God had blessed her, in her darkest moment, with people who cared about her.

She tried to tell her grieving heart that it was enough—at least for now—but it would not listen.

She continued to fight despair, wondering where Arran was at this very moment, praying, as Old John had told her, and trying to believe.

“Lord,” she whispered as she gathered kindling from nearby scrub brush, “help me in my unbelief.”

“Is there room for one more around yer fire?” Chait Fraser was the man McLeod had assigned to oversee the settlers until they reached Jack River House.

He was a tall, broad-shouldered half-blood man, no more than thirty or thirty-one.

From the little he had interacted with Eleanor, she had found him to be well-educated, with impeccable manners.

His high cheekbones and dark eyes and hair were reminiscent of his mother’s ancestry, but his bearing and the fine clothes he wore spoke of a bourgeois, or boss.

She wondered at his past but would never presume to ask—nor did she truly want to know.

He was yet another reminder of all that had been taken from her and the others.

Eleanor shared a glance with Old John. Should they welcome him to their fire? Would it be rude to send him away? He was a Nor’wester, after all, but hadn’t Arran been a Nor’wester at one point? They couldn’t all be bad. Old John appeared to know him.

Old John nodded at her and she, in turn, nodded at Chait. “You’re welcome to join us, though we have little to offer.”

“I’ve brought some sea biscuits with me.” He opened the handkerchief he held and revealed three hard biscuits, double-baked to preserve them. They were a common food on ships and within Rupert’s Land, though Eleanor had never been able to stomach them.

“Thank you.” She took the biscuits and offered them to Nicolette, hoping she would find a way to make them palatable.

“Won’t ye have a seat?” Old John asked.

There were large pieces of driftwood lying on the beach near the fire and Chait sat on one now.

His legs were long and lean as he confidently rested in their presence.

There was an easiness about him—so unlike all the other Nor’westers Eleanor had met in her short time in the wilderness.

“Thank ye for welcoming me,” he said. “I ken ye are angry.”

“Angry doesna begin to describe how we feel.” Old John’s patience was thin and he watched Chait closely. “Yer men have taken everything from us and we are exiles from our homes once again.”

“Aye.” Chait glanced up and met Eleanor’s gaze.

He held it for a moment, but then looked back at Old John.

“I am sorry for what has happened. If it had been up to me, we wouldna be here right now. I may be an employee of the North West Company, but I dinna approve of all their practices. I think there is enough land for our company and the Hudson’s Bay Company to stay in business.

And if the Nor’westers could live peacefully with the HBC men, I dinna believe we would have any trouble. ”

“You speak of peace,” Eleanor said, crossing her arms. “How do you come by a different opinion than all your comrades?”

Chait tilted his head and nodded in recognition of her comment.

“I grew up at Fort Assiniboine, near Brandon House, where my faither was the bourgeois. He was much older than my maither, and when I was very young, he retired and left his post—leaving my maither behind. He brought me to Montreal and I was raised there by his legal wife, as their only child.”

Eleanor’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She was unable to imagine what kind of life he must have led. Had he been wanted by his father’s legal wife? Had his birth mother been given an option when he was taken? Surely he hadn’t been a welcome addition to his father’s community.

She had a hundred questions, yet his early life was none of her business. “How long have you been back?”

“I entered as a clerk ten years ago and was just made a partner at last year’s rendezvous at Fort William.” He crossed his arms in a congenial pose. “I spent time at Fort Gibraltar.”

“Aye.” Old John watched Chait closely, but Eleanor could not read his thoughts. Was Chait a trustworthy person—or one they should all avoid? “Arran was the senior clerk when Chait was there.”

“You know Duncan Cameron, then?” It was Eleanor’s turn to study Chait a bit closer.

“Aye.” Chait nodded but did not give any more information.

Had Chait assisted Duncan in getting Arran removed from his post, or had he been a friend?

Eleanor caught sight of Fiona making a fire with several other settlers.

Some of the widows had banded together and were cooking around a communal pot, their children gathering firewood and kindling in the surrounding brush.

Fiona glanced up and met Eleanor’s gaze.

Sadness clung to Fiona, and Eleanor wished, with all her heart, that she could relieve her friend from all her suffering.

Neither woman said a word, but Fiona nodded at Eleanor as if she understood what Eleanor was trying to communicate.

As the sky darkened, the shadows from their fires danced with eerie movements against the settlers’ faces.

Beyond the camp, the lake stretched out as far as the eye could see, and stars sparkled overhead.

Here, near the water, it was cooler and the humidity was less severe.

The mosquitoes, also, had dissipated, offering a bit of respite.

Eleanor’s eyelids were heavy and she noticed that Miriam had fallen asleep in Isla’s arms.

“Would you mind terribly if I went to bed?” Eleanor asked those sitting around the fire.

“What about supper?” Isla asked.

Eleanor shook her head. “I am not hungry.” She hadn’t had an appetite since Arran had been taken earlier that day.

Had it only been that morning when she’d bathed and felt hopeful for the first time in days? It had been so short-lived, she almost felt like a fool for thinking it would last.

“Ye need to keep up yer energy,” Old John warned her.

“I think I need sleep more than anything else right now.” She tried to smile for him.

“I’ll take Miriam with me.” She went to Isla and lifted Miriam into her arms. The baby was warm and soft.

She snuggled into Eleanor’s shoulder, fitting perfectly.

Affection filled Eleanor and she kissed the top of Miriam’s head, thankful the baby was feeling better.

Chait rose. “Good night, Lady Eleanor.”