A Little Girl in Old St. Louis by Amanda M. Douglas
CHAPTER XIX
THIS WAY AND THAT
All the world was abloom and fragrant with later spring. The childrenwere ranging out on the great mound, learning lessons of the sky, withall its variations; of the woods, with their many kinds of trees; of theflowers that were budding and blossoming; of the river winding about,guessing at other rivers and other countries and great lakes and frozenregions up at the far north where the white bear lived and the beautifulwhite and silver fox, whose fur was rare and held in high esteem. Theypeopled it with strange, fierce Indians, and sometimes the boys dividedin two parties and fought. The girls made circles for wigwams, collecteddried grass and sticks and built fires in the centre; and if there werebut few books and no real schools, they were skilful in many things.They could shoot smaller game, they could manage a canoe, they couldfish, and they acquired much useful knowledge by the time they were menand women.
Even to-day youth is attracted by the wild, free life, and the spirit ofadventure still runs in the blood.
The line of boats were coming up north again. There had been muchfloating ice in the river this spring, which had delayed travelling.Flags were flying, so all was well. Down on the levee bells were ringingand horns blew out a welcome. Everything had a natural look again, onlythe new places were built higher up, and even some of these had beendamaged by the crushing of ice cakes.
The men collected who had this sort of interest at heart. Many othersand the slaves were out on the King's Highway and beyond, tilling andplanting fields. Women sauntered down the Rue Royale and chatted. Theold market was full of eagerness and activity, and the air had afragrance of cooked viands to tempt the palates of the sailors. Women incoifs and little shoulder shawls that gave them a picturesque look, menin close caps or a kerchief tied over their heads, their blue blouseswith red belts and wide collars exposing brawny or sinewy throats,tanned already by sun and wind.
The leader, the most pretentious boat generally, carried somepassengers; the others had loads of bales and bundles covered withcoarse canvas or deers' hide. They looked not unlike a funeralprocession, the sails a dull gray, but the shouts and songs dispelled sosombre a thought. Some of the men remembered when the sad news of PierreLaclede had reached them, when all had been silence.
The first boat unloaded the few passengers, valuable papers, and theslaves began with the cargo. One tall, fine-aspected young fellow sprangashore and was warmly welcomed by the Chouteaus and several of the moreprominent men, and then Gaspard Denys seized his hand, but neither ofthem spoke except with the eyes.
And now all was a brisk, seeming confusion. Rude barrows and a kind ofhand-carts were loaded and run to the storehouses. Slaves, Indians andthe lower class of French, many of them hunters as well, worked with ahearty will. Then there were groups of Indian traders who had beenwatching for days for the arrival of the boats, and were eager withtheir packs for trade. Others had already disposed of their pelts andtaken notes with the signature of the Chouteaus, quite as good as goldor silver, and making trade easier, giving them more time to devote totheir own selection. Squaws eager for blankets, calicoes, coarse,crash-like stuffs, beads and gewgaws, chaffering in their gutturaltones, and shrill French voices raised to the point of anger, it wouldseem, from the eagerness, but good-humored for all that.
Several men went into the counting house where the old sign stillobtained, "Maxent Laclede & Company," just as it still remained in NewOrleans. It would look queer enough to-day, the small one-story loghouse with its rough inside wall built up to the ceiling with shelves,its great iron-bound boxes that served for seats as well as receptacles.
Andre Valbonais had a big buckskin bag full of papers and invoices, andhe had much to say to his employers. Pierre Chouteau went in and out; hecould hear the particulars afterward, and he was needed every fewmoments to tell where this and that should go.
There was a great commotion, to be sure. Millions of dollars intransactions could pass now without a tithe of excitement. But, then,when a town has been shut in all winter it is natural the outburstshould stir like wine in the blood. The shops farther up in the townwere deserted.
As for Renee de Longueville, she kept very tranquil.
"I suppose M'sieu Andre came up on this voyage?" Mere Lunde said as shewas preparing dinner.
Renee had been working among her flowers; then she had kept in her room,busying herself with sewing.
"Perhaps so. There will be fleets in all the time now. And Indians and_voyageurs_ and piles of pelts and evil smells, and such a confusion inthe streets it will hardly be safe to go out unless one is willing to bejostled and pushed hither and yon."
"And M'sieu Denys does not come home to dinner. It is all ready."
"Let us have ours, then," with cordial assent.
"Perhaps he may bring home M'sieu Valbonais."
"Well, there may be something left. I am hungry, but I cannot eat allthis bountiful meal," with a gay laugh.
"It will be spoiled, ma'm'selle," complainingly.
"The more need that we eat ours while it is just right," she answered,with smiling emphasis. "Will it make them any happier to have ours lessinviting?"
So she took her seat at the table with a merry audacity, and praised thecookery so heartily that Mere Lunde was good humored in a moment or two.Still there was no step on the path.
"They will not come," in a tone of disappointment.
"But, you know, there is enough to get at the market in such times asthese," returned Renee, with a lightsome air. "Trust them for notstarving."
"Pah! It may do for sailors and _voyageurs_ and Indians, but never forgentlemen, mademoiselle."
When Mere Lunde was a little affronted she gave Renee the full length ofthe syllables.
Renee went out and looked at the flowers again, and up and down thestreet. "If there was any news," she said to herself, "Uncle Denys wouldcome and tell me."
"Mere Lunde, I am going over to Madame Marchand's with my work," sheexclaimed. "I do hope they have brought in no end of beads and spangles.What do you suppose the Indian women did before the French came here?"
That was beyond the simple mere's comprehension.
M. Marchand was returning from his dinner.
"I just ran down to hear the luck, ma'm'selle; they had a splendidvoyage and no mishap. And Andre Valbonais--you would not know him!"
She nodded indifferently, but would ask no questions. Wawataysee sat outunder a pretty rose arbor that was heavy with pink buds. There were fourbabies now, sturdy Gaspard and Denys tumbling about on the grass, Renee,with her fair hair and her father's deep blue eyes, much more Frenchthan Indian, and baby Francois. Wawataysee was more lovely than ever,Renee thought, but she did not understand that it was the largeness andsweetness of life so intimately connected with others.
"Did M'sieu Denys come home?" Wawataysee asked.
"No. I suppose it is all a hurly-burly down there. It is good to havesomething to stir up the town now and then," Renee returned brightly.
"Yes. The trappers were growing very impatient. And I think there willbe a good trade, an excellent thing for you and me," with a gratefulexpression in her beautiful eyes. "Renee, I wonder if M. Denys everrealizes all that he has done for Francois, and good Mere Lunde nursedhim through all his long illness. Men's regard for each other has such astrong, true quality in it. And, then, M'sieu Andre--oh, Renee, whatwould _we_ have done without him? I hope he came up on this voyage."
"Yes," returned Renee. "M. Marchand just told me so."
"I am all impatience to see him. Almost two years! Francois declaressometimes that he is jealous, but that is for amusement. I wonder if heis much changed? He was very boyish, you know."
"Was he?" commented Renee absently.
"You would not remark it so much. You were a child yourself. And how youused to order him about."
"It was a habit of mine. Uncle Gaspard spoiled me. And now I have onlyto raise my finger and he does my bidding; but he knows there is no oneI love so well."
Would she always love him the best of any one?
"And I suppose we shall be glad to have a new store of beads and thoselovely spangles that make the work glitter so, and the soft silkthreads. Merci! What would we do but for the work?" laughing.
No books or papers to read, no letters to write, no large questions todiscuss, not much of fashion, since garments were handed down throughgenerations, no journeys about. It was no wonder they were so largelygiven to the gayety and pleasures of every-day life. There were lovesand disputes and jealousies, yet they seldom reached the desperatepoint, and all, both men and women, looked forward to marriage, whichwas made happy by unfailing good humor and a clear sense of duty. Itwas, indeed, Arcadian simplicity.
They chatted and worked, then they took the children and went up on themound, where they had a view of the busy hive below, and theconglomerate of nations, it seemed to their limited sense. Renee was ina most merry mood. She sang snatches of songs, she played with thechildren, she told the older ones Indian legends that were like fairystories. Wawataysee studied her in a sort of amazement.
Renee had half a mind to go home to supper with her. That would lookinhospitable. Gay as she had been, there was a curious unrest in herheart, a longing to have the first meeting over. Would Andre expect herto be _very_ glad? Well, she would put on her finest dignity. She wasquite grown up now.
The table was set for two.
"M'sieu Denys has sent word--they are to go to the Chouteaus' for supper.Oh, I forgot! M. Valbonais has come," glancing up to see if it pleasuredher young lady.
"Yes, yes!" Renee nodded impatiently, and took her seat. "Of course,there is business. He is clerk of the great house, you know, and bringsnews not only of New Orleans, but France, and perhaps of the newcolonies. I think I have heard there is some trade with them. You see,Mere Lunde, New Orleans is a wonderful place."
But after all her exercise and apparent good spirits, she scarcely ateany supper. There was a hurt feeling lying heavily at her heart that shecould not banish, with all her pride. If he had cared, would he not havefound a few moments to announce his safe return? Perhaps he had left awife behind. Then, of course, he had no right to think of any otherwoman.
She went out and paced up and down in the garden, trying to think whatshe would do to-morrow. She would go down to the mill-pond; there werealways parties out boating. Then Sophie Borrie would be glad to see her.And the day after, the day after that--how long and lonely the processionlooked!
There was a bright twinkling star emerging from a drift of white into apatch of almost blue-black sky. The night was serene, balmy, and therewere but few sounds. It was not yet time for insects to begin theirchoruses. Steps sounded of people chatting gayly, but they were not thevoices she knew. Something brushed against her forehead--she reached upand pulled a rose, sweet with the first greeting of its brief life. Andthen----
She hurried swiftly to the house. Mere Lunde was scolding Chloe, butthrough the rasping sound she heard the steps, the cordial greeting. Itwas quite dark within, and she was lighting the pine torch when the twoentered and her uncle said:
"We have reached home at last. What a day! Renee, here is a guest," andUncle Gaspard gave his hearty, cheerful laugh.
"We were in the dark." She rose in some confusion, the short curlsdrooping almost into her eyes, her face quite flushed, and turned,drawing a long, startled breath.
"The saints only know how glad I am to get home again!" and the strongvoice was full of rapture.
"And you don't know yourself?" she interrupted quickly.
"Ah, you must not take me up like that!" laughing. "I doubt if even thesaints could understand my delight. No one but myself truly knows. Isthat better?"
The torch began to flame, and its red light threw him out boldly. Heseemed to have grown taller--no, it was not that, for Uncle Gaspard stilltowered above him, but he was stouter, and the way he carried himselfhad in it a new character and power. And the indescribable something inhis face that no girl could read at a glance, the shaping and toneexperience gives when one has been learning to rule his fellow-men andto depend upon himself.
She was silent and a warm color played about her face. He took bothhands, drew her nearer to him, and suddenly she was afraid of theintense personality. Her rosy lips quivered, her eyes drooped, herbreath came rapidly.
"Haven't you a word of welcome for Andre?" asked Uncle Gaspard,surprised.
"I was confused by the light, and--you are quite sure it is MonsieurValbonais?" turning to her uncle. "For he seems to have changedmysteriously."
"And you have not changed at all. Nothing has changed. M. Denys, lightyour pipe and sit in the corner, and I will take this one. Ma'm'selleRenee, sit here in the middle." He pushed the chair and placed hergently in it. "Now we can almost believe that I have not been away atall, only there is the great gladness of coming back."
"Has the time passed so quickly, monsieur?"
There was the faintest suggestion of mischief in her tone.
"Mademoiselle, you have not outgrown all your naughtiness, I perceive.You find a second meaning in my simple words. No, there have been daysthat seemed like months--last summer, when I hoped to return, when I washomesick and heartsick. But what are you to do when the kindest employerin the world begs you to stay and there is no one to take your place,unless matters go at a great loss?"
"But New Orleans is gay and bright. And Madame Gardepier says the womenare lovely, and there is music and light-heartedness everywhere."
"When you are in a close and dark office or out on the muddy, crowded,vile-smelling levees with men of every nation shouting and hustling andswearing all about you, and you have almost to fight to get your biddingdone, you have no thought for pretty women. But a man cannot alwayschoose. And my greatest grief is that I must go back or disappoint myvery good friends."
"Oh!" with a toss of the head and a curve of the swelling lip that helonged to kiss.
"Ma'm'selle, let us not talk about that now. There are pleasantersubjects--all our old friends--for through the day it has been business,business, until my head seemed in a whirl with it. M. Denys will tellyou. And we had to go to supper to finish, as if there would not beanother day. But it is so lovely here. And the pretty Madame Marchand iswell, and the Renaud girls, and the Aubrys with their husbands, andMadame Gardepier with her little one! Ah, I shall have a fine timepresently, when I get a little leisure!"
What a new sound his voice had! A strength and resolution that swayedone curiously, a definite manner of stating opinions that somehowimpressed one not only with a sense of security, but a sense of powerthat she was minded to rebel against.
They talked late. Why could she not slyly disappear, as she often did,and leave him with Uncle Denys, since he would remain all night?
But she shook off the mysterious chain with an effort and rose andwished them good-night in a timid sort of way, though she stood up verystraight.
He caught her hand. "I am tempted to wish there could be no nights for along while," he said. "They are not good nights."
"Think how sleepy we should get. And mine are always good," laughinglightly. But she did not go across and kiss Uncle Denys.
There were several busy days, and friends that proffered Andre a warmwelcome. The Valbonais cousins were wedded long ago, but they claimedhim quite as cordially, and the old people were proud enough of him. TheMarchands offered him their home, and were delighted to have him dropin. Then he was being asked to dine or sup with the Chouteaus, and hewas at the Government House, for his intelligent understanding of othersubjects besides commercial matters made him a desirable guest.
Renee experienced a curious sensation, as if she was being neglected.She had lost her old power over him, which was mortifying. He teased hera little, then he let her trifle with him and say saucy things. But itwas like a bird with a chain; he brought her back, he let her see it wasonly playing. Then she grew indignant and flounced away, met him coldlythe next time, or was proud and silen
Uncle Gaspard never raised a finger in the matter.
"I do not like him. I almost hate him!" she cried vehemently one day."Of course, I know he saved me in that dreadful peril, but he has beenthanked a hundred times over. And we do not owe him anything."
"Oh, yes," Uncle Gaspard said tenderly, as he pressed her to his heart."I owe him a great deal. For if I had lost you----"
"And you could never give me to any one else?"
"Well, whoever wanted one would have to take both."
Presently the trafficking was about over. The Indians had gone to theirrespective lodges, the _voyageurs_ sailed up the river, and now onlyoccasional boats and canoes came in. Andre was not so busy. He joinedthe parties on their rambles when he was certain Renee would be amongthem. He did not hesitate to make himself agreeable to otherdemoiselles. She could not help drawing contrasts. He had certain waysof the better class, though social lines were not strongly marked andfew people knew what culture meant. He talked Spanish fluently; he wasquite an adept in English, though he had acquired a little of thatbefore. But the difference was largely one of manner, the small,delicate attentions that went to her heart and understanding. UncleGaspard always had some of them, M. Marchand also, and a few of theothers. The rather rough good nature had much honesty, but it was not soflattering to a girl of Renee's cast.
There were times when she was quite as jealous as she had ever been ofUncle Gaspard. Yet it was strange to be so shaken by his coming when shetold herself she did not care for him, to have the touch of his handthrill through every nerve, to have the steady glance of his eye conquerthe spirit of rebellion until there was nothing left except the thinoutside crust, that would surely fall at the next assault if she did notrun away. This was cowardly, too, and she despised herself for it, butshe was not the first who had escaped in this fashion.
He was amused. In the earlier days he had experienced a great terror atthe thought of losing her. It might be the elder man's wisdom had helpedopen his eyes. He liked her piquant independence, and he learned, too,there was a mood of most fascinating dependence as well. But she neverwholly gave up.
"Is it true you are going back to New Orleans?" Renee asked one day inher charming, but imperious fashion.
"Yes, ma'm'selle. And I must start in another month."
He looked so brave and dignified, his clear eyes shining, his shouldersthrown back, his head securely poised, as if he could lead an army.There was not his match in all St. Louis. Oh, yes, Uncle Gaspard and M.Marchand, and Madame Chouteau's splendid sons, who had risked variousdangers! And M. Marchand had carried off the pretty Wawataysee when heknew if they should be captured he would be put to cruel tortures anddeath. Well, had not Andre escaped with them both when a like fate wouldhave awaited him in being taken?
"You care nothing for us now, Andre," in her most plaintive tone, ahundred times more dangerous than her pride tinctured with sweetness.And the sorrow that flooded her beautiful brown eyes almost swept himfrom his standing-ground.
"Yes, ma'm'selle, I care a great deal. I love M. Denys as an elderbrother. And you--" hesitatingly.
She blushed scarlet and her eyes drooped.
"No, you want the gayety and the excitement and the crowds of prettywomen and the theatres. We are dull and simple here, yet I think we aregood and happy and honest and true. And, then, you are all absorbed inmoney-making. Uncle Gaspard said you would be a rich man before youdied. But they do dreadful things in New Orleans, and drink and carouse.You may be murdered some day, and then what will all the money beworth?"
She looked so aggrieved, so bewitching in her regret that, after all,was half assumed, though she would not confess it to herself even, thathe had much ado to keep tranquil.
"Ma'm'selle, I go because I see it is quite necessary. A man who hopesfor advancement must study the interest of those who have his welfare atheart and can favor him in many ways. Then I hold the key to much of thebusiness at that end of the line, and I do not see who there is to putin my place. It is true the life here is simple and delightful. Thereone has a good deal of sharp dealing to fight against, since he mustmeet men of all governments and all sorts of schemes. If M'sieu Chouteaucould go--but he cannot. Do not for a moment think it is the gayety andthe pretty women."
"Then you _will_ go. There is no use in arguing."
She turned away. How distractingly pretty she was this morning in theold garden, herself a part of its bloom! Over the gate she had given hima rose, and renewed friendship after a dispute.
"I must go. I have passed my word. Renee--" in a beseeching tone.
She half turned, like a bird who wonders whether he will fly or not, buther lowered eyes had a laugh in them.
"Renee, you know I love you----"
"No, I do not." He could see the swelling of her bosom that sent a throbup to her throat. "You do nothing for me now. You are off with the men.You are--oh, so very charming to the girls!" with a cutting littleemphasis. "And you are always talking to Uncle Gaspard about business----"
"And last night you ran away to bed without even a good-night!" withupbraiding in his voice.
"Oh, _did_ you miss me? I never supposed you would. I was tired sittingthere, thinking my own thoughts."
"Now we have plenty of time; tell them to me," and his persuasive tonepenetrated her inmost being. What foolish things could she repeat? Herface was scarlet.
"You know now I love you. I have told you so in words. I have told it inmany other ways. I confessed it to M. Denys before I went away and hebade me wait patiently. For two years I have carried you in my heart,yes, longer than that. You had your fling about other women; no one hasever moved me. Every night I said, 'One more day has gone, and at thelast I shall go back to the little girl in old St. Louis that I carriedin my arms all one night when she was worn out with fatigue and hungerand cold. Renee----"
"I cannot leave Uncle Denys. I have said hundreds of times I neverwould," and her voice was sweet with pathos that penetrated his inmostsoul.
"But you need not. We have planned that. I will be a son to him in allhis declining years. No, you need never be separated."
"Then you will stay!" exultingly. If she could once conquer she would begenerous and consent afterward. Did not love yield everything?
"I _must_ go. We three will go." His breath came in a gasp, his eyesdeepened with fervor, he caught both her hands; he could have claspedher in his arms in a transport of rapture. Only--she stood up so straightand resolute.
"So you have planned all this!" she cried in a passion that had a pangfor her as well as him. "And I am not anywhere. It makes no differencewhat I want. I am like any bale of merchandise tossed from one to theother. That is all a woman is worth! But you will find I am not to bebandied about."
She had lashed her emotion into tears, and pulled away her hands with animpatient gesture.
"Heaven above knows what you are worth to both of us. No one will everlove you more truly, more devotedly."
Renee de Longueville fled swiftly away.