Far Horizons (30 page)

The woman shook her head. “Never mind that. I have a proposition for you. You haven't supplies, or a place to go to. I don't have a companion, that is, an appropriate chaperone. I'll share my supplies and cabin with you if you agree to travel as my companion, make me respectable, as it were, although that's one thing I've always been.”

Harriet stared at her, her mind whirling. “What are you asking me?”

The woman laughed again, although her face was serious. “Isn't it plain enough? I'm asking you to come to Red River with me.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Harriet slapped absently at a mosquito as she hung up another petticoat on the makeshift clothesline. It would take ages for the clothes to dry in this damp weather, she knew, but there was no help for it.

For the last few weeks, ever since they'd arrived at York Factory, they'd been living in crowded conditions, in a veritable swamp. Although the land around Hudson’s Bay was frozen for most of the year, in the middle of August it was surprisingly humid and hot. With diseases like typhoid and dysentery breeding, damp clothes were hardly a worry.

The last two months had been a blur of travel. When Katherine Donald had asked her to be her travelling companion, Harriet had not known what to answer.

“I need some time to think,” she'd stammered in the face of Katherine's beady eyed determination.

“I can give you five minutes. Because we're leaving tomorrow, and if you can't go, I'll have to try and find someone else.”

“Surely a widow travelling alone is respectable enough?” Harriet had protested weakly, her mind whirling. “Many women have lost husbands on the sea journey, I'm sure.”

“The Selkirk settlement is a close group,” Katherine replied shortly. “They have their reasons.”

Harriet had a feeling the older woman was not telling her something, but she could hardly demand answers now.

“Well?” Katherine continued. “You were asking about going, weren't you?” She glanced at Rupert. “Is this your brother? Do you have ties here, is that it?”

Rupert was staring at her with wide eyes, and Harriet was dry mouthed. “He's not my brother,” she said quietly, “but as close as.” She put her hand on Rupert's shoulder, her heart suddenly heavy. She couldn't leave Rupert, not when he'd begged her to stay. No matter where she was, in Scotland or the new world, she had obligations. “I thank you kindly for your offer, Mrs. Douglas, but--”

“You should go.” Rupert's voice was barely a whisper.

Harriet stared at him in surprise. “What are you saying, Rupert?”

“Harriet, this is your chance, don't you see?” Rupert smiled sadly. “You're not happy with us, don't pretend. You said so yourself. You sacrificed your own happiness once for your family. Don't do it again.”

Harriet was amazed and touched by Rupert's understanding, especially for a boy his age. The recent months had taken the last vestiges of his childhood from him, she saw afresh.

“I'd do it, twice more, if need be,” she told him quietly. “Are you sure, Rupert? Do you mean what you say?”

Wordlessly he nodded.

Tears pricked her eyes. Perhaps this was what she needed to do. Her heart beat wildly at the thought of it. To start yet again, in a new place? To travel even further from her family in Scotland? And yet... there was no hope here, she realised, no hope to build a life for herself. All her dreams had turned to ashes. Ashes and dust. There would be no rekindling them.

She needed to move on, find her own place. Her own life... her own dreams, new ones. She turned to Katherine Douglas. “All right then, I'll go.”

Harriet didn't like to remember Sandy and Betty's faces when she'd told them she was leaving. She knew that her arrival had somehow blunted the loss of Archie and Allan, and now her leaving was like a betrayal.

“We won't ask you to stay,” Sandy said sadly. “I can see you've made up your mind, and I'll respect that. That's one thing I've learned, even if it came too late for my own sons.”

Harriet embraced them warmly. “I'll write from Fort Douglas. I don't know how long letters take, but surely there will be fur traders and merchants going East?”

“It's a wild place out there, Harriet,” Betty said anxiously. “Even more wild and harsh than here, if that can be believed. I know you want to go, but do take care. You're like a daughter to us, and we couldn't bear to lose you.”

“I'll take care,” Harriet promised.

The ship's journey from Pictou to York Factory was crowded and uncomfortable, although Harriet had enjoyed getting to know some of her fellow travellers. There were few young women, and the ones she met were married, but eager for friends of a similar age.

Yet, strangely, Harriet felt as if she were far older than these girls who clung to dreams she'd already given up. Small enough dreams, of a husband and children, a cabin and small farm in this new land, yet Harriet knew the life she'd once imagined for herself was gone forever.

She found she liked Katherine Donald, with her frank, almost brusque way of speaking and her honest eyes. She'd a kind heart, Harriet decided, although Katherine would most likely prefer that no one know it.

“These cursed mosquitoes.” Katherine stood before her, surveying the clothesline, hands on hips. “We've been here a week already, and no word about when we're to move out. I don't know what Fort Douglas will be like, but it has to be better than this!”

Harriet silently agreed. York Factory was one of the Hudson Bay Company's fur trading posts, and its importance in the region had helped it to grow into a strange city of sorts, with a blacksmith, mercantile, and church, as well as the barns for storing fur, the barracks, and the shanties and makeshift dwellings which had sprung up around the main buildings.

Still, it was not a settlement of any sorts, not the kind Harriet had envisioned when they’d sailed round the bay, at any rate. It was a trading post, a temporary holding place for both people and goods, and nothing more.

With an additional shipload of immigrants staying at the fort, it was also crowded and unpleasant.

“There's ill feeling here,” Katherine said quietly. “Have you sensed it?”

“I think so.” Harriet spoke quietly as well, for you never knew who might be listening. The grubby voyageurs with their rough ways and strange patois as well as the stony-faced Métis made her uneasy. So much here was so very unfamiliar.

York Factory housed a motley crew... English soldiers, French fur traders, Métis or half Indians, and now Scottish settlers. She supposed there was bound to be some tension between all the different groups vying for food and space. “I expect the crowd and heat adds to it,” she said with a small smile, but Katherine shook her head.

“Perhaps, but I don't mean just that. Lord knows we've had enough of that since we left Scotland. No, I'm talking about something worse.” She lowered her voice even more. “The fur traders, the Frenchmen and the Indians, have been rumbling about something. They're not happy with us, I can tell you that. Only this morning I saw one of them shove Mr. Ferry.” David Ferry was one of the leaders of the group. “He made it out like an accident, but I daresay it wasn't.”

“How do you know?” Harriet was sceptical. “Surely he wouldn't dare start a brawl, with soldiers around!”

“Don't be naive,” Katherine said brusquely. “The traders want to start something, only I'm not sure what it is. You know the settlement was burned by them once before. I suppose it could happen again, God help us.”

Harriet’s hands rested on the damp apron she’d been hanging. A prickle of unease ran through her like a shiver. “But that was a long time ago,” she said, “when the settlement had just started. Surely now that it's bigger and more fortified, they wouldn't dare.” Even though she’d been warned of the dangers of heading West, Harriet realised she hadn’t fully believed them. She supposed she’d thought life had already given her its worst, yet now she wondered if that true.

“All the more reason to dare,” Katherine said darkly, “prosperity breeds resentment faster than these cursed mosquitoes.” She slapped at her neck, and Harriet managed a small smile.

“Governor Semple assured us it was safe. The new laws...”

“The new laws are what started this,” Katherine cut her off. “Semple thinks he can come down hard on these savages, and that will be the end of it. But they've shown they're made of something tougher. I just hope we leave for Fort Douglas before long. At least there are no fur traders or Métis there, and the walls are thick and strong. Staying here, we might as well take up residence in a powder keg.”

With a grimace, Katherine walked away, and Harriet returned to hanging clothes. A group of traders loitered near her, the brims of their hats pulled low over their faces, their chins covered by bushy beards.

Their clothes reeked of sweat and animal, and their expressions were surly. Harriet studiously avoided looking at them. She’d already heard warnings about some of the traders’ rough behaviour, especially with women. Even if it was so much unfriendly hearsay, she didn’t dare put it to the test.

The governor must have agreed with Katherine’s assessment, for that evening an announcement was made that they would be heading for Fort Douglas in two days. The journey would take several weeks, in boats down the Red River.

“Finally we're to go,” Moira Ferry, a young girl of eighteen who had made friends with Harriet, met with her over the washing up. “I'm tired of living like a gypsy. Father says in Fort Douglas we'll have our own farm, and a cabin with two bedrooms and wood floors.” She smiled almost dreamily, and Harriet smiled back.

“It's something to look forward to, isn't it,” she agreed quietly.

“What about you?” Moira glanced at her curiously. “I know you're companion to Mrs. Donald, but what about when we arrive at the settlement? Will you go your separate ways?”

“We shall keep house together, for the time being.” Katherine had offered Harriet room in her cabin, as long as she helped with the housekeeping and chores.

“What if you marry?” Moira asked. “You're young enough. Surely you want a husband and family of your own?”

Harriet shrugged. “I can't imagine it,” she said slowly. “Not anymore.”

“Can't imagine it! Why, you're daft! It's all I think about, truly.” Moira smiled. “Father wanted me to marry back in Scotland, a boy from home. But I didn't love him. I'd fancy marrying a soldier, they look so grand in their uniforms. But then, they're off fighting all the time, aren't they? I daresay I wouldn't like that.” She paused, a becoming wrinkle appearing on her normally smooth forehead. “Not anymore, you said? Why, did something happen?”

“My fiancé died,” Harriet explained. She was glad she could talk about it in an even voice. “He was lost at sea.”

Moira’s eyes widened and her hand flew to her throat. “Oh, how tragic! But you can meet another, surely? There are so many men here, plenty of bachelors...”

Harriet couldn’t help but laugh. “Thank you for the encouragement, Moira, but I’m not quite ready to look for a husband yet.”

Moira’s eyes sparkled with challenge and mischief. “Well, when you are...”

Harriet held up a hand. “Oh, very well!” But she couldn’t imagine when that time would come.

The night air brought a cool breeze, and some relief from the humidity and mosquitoes. There was even a promise of autumn in the air, now that it was mid August. It was hard to believe in another two months or so, most of this would be a frozen wasteland. Harriet pulled her shawl around her shoulders. Tomorrow they would start for Red River. Tomorrow, her new life would begin.

Allan could feel the temperature rising among the fur traders, and it wasn't simply because of the unexpected heat wave. Ever since the settlers bound for Red River had arrived at York Factory, the surly grumblings among the Métis had grown louder and more threatening. Allan had been planning to leave the trading post himself over a week ago, but he found himself staying and waiting... although waiting for what, he could not say.

“Still here, my friend?” Pierre's voice was amused, although his eyes looked hard. “It's best for you to leave, perhaps.”

“Why do you say that?” Allan asked quietly.

“We don't want trouble,” Pierre replied, his voice soft. “I see in your eyes that you think we do. You feel for these poor settlers, no? They are Scottish, like you.”

Allan shrugged. “I'm on the side of justice,” he said after a moment, although he knew that wasn't really an answer. If he were honest, he could see both sides of the conflict.

“Then tell me, where is the justice in this? The Métis have been trading pemmican for decades. There was a proclamation stating they could do so sixty years ago! And yet now your governor...”

“He's not my governor,” Allan corrected.

“Fair enough. Governor Semple now makes this law, saying no one can trade pemmican? It must all go to your poor, pale-faced settlers, because they are too stupid to find food for themselves!”

“I know it's unjust, but what will fighting do?”

“It's Semple who wants to fight,” Pierre replied. “And some of your settlers are itching for a fight as well. They are already going on missions to drive the buffalo farther away. They think that will get rid of us all, the Métis and the traders.”

“Why are you still here, then?” Allan asked. “If there's to be no fighting, why haven't you and the other traders gone out for fur?”

Pierre shrugged. “There's talk,” he said evasively. “Grant says something may happen soon.”

Allan had heard of Cuthbert Grant, a Métis trader and an unofficial leader of the discontented group. “Something may happen?” he repeated. “What do you mean?”

“We will take matters into our own hands,” Pierre said quietly. “And that is enough for you to know.”

Allan shook his head. “I pray it won't come to a fight, for the sake of the settlers, as well as yours and mine.”

Pierre's smile was cold. “Pray for them, Allan,” he replied, “for the Métis are excellent marksmen.”

Allan's thoughts were troubled as he shared his dinner with a few other fur traders. Should he go about his own business, he wondered. If it came to fighting, there was little he could do. He'd seen Semple, an assured and confident man who ran to swagger and bluster. Semple wasn't likely to take advice from a man like him, and none of the settlers would, either. He'd heard the latest group of settlers were leaving for Red River on the morrow, and he was glad, for their own sake.