The High Missouri (27 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

The house was time out of joint for Dylan. It was newly trimmed in white and robin’s-egg blue. Flowers were planted. More than that, it felt different. No longer heavy and oppressive, but light and buoyant.

Regardless of what Amalie had persuaded him to do to the house, Ian Campbell would be neither light nor buoyant. Dylan knocked with trepidation.

Amalie opened the door, and Dylan saw a sliver of alarm, then a shaft of surprise, and at last a burst of delight. Dylan’s little sister jumped into his arms. “I’m so
thrilled
!” Amalie cried. She held him at arm’s length and looked into his face, her eyes alight, and then hugged him again. He could feel her, over his shoulder, looking at Dru and Anastasie and Lara. He felt her stiffen.

He drew back. “Amalie,” he began, “this is Lara.” He looked into her eyes as he pointed to his daughter in Anastasie’s arms. “My daughter.” A cloud crossed Amalie’s face. Then Dylan saw her decide to muddle bravely on. “Morgan Griffiths Morgan Bleddyn is her godfather, and Anastasie Bleddyn her godmother.”

Amalie did not step forward to take the child or coo over her. Even to Dylan, Lara looked very dark in her new white dress.

It was all right. He was prepared for strangeness. He had to admit that Dru and Anastasie, in buckskin clothes and with a cradle board, looked out of place in Montreal. He himself had donned cloth only to visit Amalie, and his outfit was still
voyageur-style
. He waited for her to look up at the friends he was introducing her to.

“Dru, Anastasie, this is my sister Amalie. Who’s very beautiful, isn’t she?”

Dru gave a simple and elegant formal bow. Dylan wouldn’t have thought him capable of it. Amalie seemed embarrassed. “Miss Campbell,” he said gently. Anastasie inclined her head slightly to the young woman.

All three of them smiled at Amalie. She was beautiful today, fair of hair and complexion. But Dylan was surprised that her yellow curls were pinned on top of her head. After only two years she looked older, much older than her twenty-one years. Yet she had not grown an inch, and still didn’t come quite to five feet. His dear, tiny sister.

A little late, she said, “I’m pleased to meet you. Won’t you come in?”

Not only had the house been painted outside, inside the hallway was transformed. No more the dark, musty feeling, the air of illness or decline. And the library—where he and Ian Campbell had come to blows—was brought back to life. Though the large pieces of furniture were the same, the rugs and draperies were new, and the place felt colorful, even resplendent. Amalie’s touch was evident everywhere. Which meant their father was letting her have room to live.

“Where’s Daddy Ni?” asked Dylan. For Dylan, Daddy Ni would always be right here in this room, raising that table overhead and smashing it toward Dylan’s head.

Amalie hesitated, toed the rug nervously. “Dylan, there’s a lot you don’t know. Dada’s fine, and he’s gone.” Dylan Davies, born Campbell, felt suddenly empty, hollowed out.

Amalie added briskly, “I mean, Dada’s, he’s much better—I’ll tell you all about it.” She thought for a moment. “Why don’t I have Nicolette get luncheon ready and I’ll… Oh, it’s hard.” Why was his sister so flustered? Where was his father? “Just wait patiently, sit, please, everyone, and I’ll be right with you.”

She fled to the kitchen. Dylan saw a woman servant, presumably this Nicolette, hurry off down the street. He heard Amalie helping to make luncheon in the kitchen. He glanced nervously at Dru, and then looked away irritably. He hated it when Dru knew everything.

He took Lara from Anastasie, sat in his father’s Queen Anne chair, and cradled her fondly. Since that night in the lodge when he’d decided to bring the two children to Montreal and make a life for them, his attitude toward Lara and Harold had changed completely. Actually, he felt like he did not make such a decision. He had looked at the twins, held them, cooed at them, rocked them, sang softly to them, nuzzled them. Then, in touch with reality rather than the contortions of his deciding mind, he knew what he wanted to do, how he wanted to live.

Now, his heart did not permit him even to picture Harold’s face.

He shook Lara gently in his arms, and she burbled. She was a curious, bright-eyed, cheerful infant. It amazed Dylan how complete she was, a wholly formed, pint-sized human being with a grown-up strength of will. And fullblown personality, in fact, even at ten months. She was about to start talking.

Dylan saw that she was going to sleep now, put her in the cradle board and hung it from a chair.

He loved Lara. She had given him back his life.

It would be the devil’s own job to make a life for her, but a joy.

Knock-knock!

The man in the doorway was… Claude MacDonald, Dylan’s old roommate, smiling with all his charm. Which covered his wariness well enough.

Claude stepped into the library. Amalie came next to him and took his arm. “Dylan, I have a surprise for you too. Claude and I were married May the first.

“Mr. and Mrs. Bleddyn,” she continued, “may I present my husband, Claude MacDonald? Claude, Morgan and Anastasie Bleddyn.”

Dru repeated his bow, but less deep.

“Amalie—”

She interrupted him sweetly. “When we’re seated, Dylan. This way.”

It was a lovely meal—Amalie must have been planning for Claude to come home. They had hare soup, salmon croquettes, boiled vegetables, and strawberries with whipped cream. A sea change from pemmican and
sagamité
.

Dylan couldn’t stop thinking about Claude and marriage. His old mate’s idea of a beddable wife was someone else’s wife, anyone else’s. Well, maybe he’d changed his mind.

Amalie poured the coffee herself. As she sat down, she began. “Dylan, Claude has left the bank. He’s investing in land, and he’s partners with Daddy Ni.” She smiled winningly, like that wasn’t a bombshell. “Daddy Ni is marvelously recovered from his illness—he looks wonderful, so virile. He took, well, he took that Indian tar, you know, that medicine the Rat brought him from the interior. And he recovered. Truly, Dylan, his joints are all right, and he’s his old self.”

Dylan wasn’t particularly pleased about that. The old Ian Campbell was the one who always left him and Amalie with their aunt and disappeared into the wilds, leaving his children alone, once for an entire year. But it was good news that Daddy Ni’s health was better.

Amalie’s story was not long. About the time Daddy Ni started improving, HBC bought out the Nor’West Company. Ian Campbell saw great opportunity in that—those Lords and Ladies didn’t know, well, she wouldn’t repeat his actual language, about running the trade profitably. As he regained his health, Daddy Ni had begun to dream again. He got a message to the Rat. His longtime partner materialized in Montreal bringing more Indian tar and evidently some critical information.

“I helped them find some financing,” said Claude, “some of it in exchange for this house and a half share in the warehouse.” That meant Dylan was now dining in Claude’s house, not his family home.

“On May first, two months ago,” Amalie said brightly, “Ian Campbell set off for what is reported to be great beaver country.”

“Said he’ll bring back a bloody fortune,” added Claude, “twenty or thirty on the pound.”

Dylan was struck with the reason for going into the wilderness, not pilgrimage, but money lust.

“Where’d they go?” put in Dru.

“Wouldn’t say,” answered Claude. “Military secret. Didn’t even tell us. Mr. Campbell said with a big grin, ‘This is war.’”

In the middle of luncheon Lara began to cry. Anastasie got up, brought her to the table, and fed her from one of the buffalo bladders she’d brought for the purpose.

“What the devil is that?” said Claude with a huge smile.

Amalie put a hand to her nose, apparently somewhere between fascinated and repelled.

Dru told them how he’d made them.

“Ingenious!” exclaimed Claude, forcing his smile even wider.

Common enough among the Indians, said Dru.

Anastasie went to the library, brought back another half-full bladder bottle, and handed it to Claude. Dylan’s brother-in-law inspected it and offered it to Amalie, who flinched and shook her head no. Dylan supposed the ancient-looking buffalo dug was a little alarming.

Dru watched Lara in Anastasie’s arms, nursing. The kid sucked like a greedy little creature, Dylan had to admit, all avidness and no table manners.

Looking at her made Dylan nervous. Lara was so dark, especially against Amalie’s white linen tablecloth. He didn’t know how his daughter turned out darker than either of her parents, and he didn’t care.

Why the devil am I nervous in front of my own sister? he demanded of himself.

Lara belched loudly.

Amalie tittered.

“Not exactly the music of the spheres,” said Dru with a smile.

When dessert came, fresh strawberries in cream, Amalie broached the subject. “Dylan, I hope you don’t feel left out by Daddy Ni’s business arrangements with Claude. I’m sure you would have been part of the business, but after two years of not knowing… Well, we’d nearly given up hope.”

Awkward pause.

“Right now we’re all chiefs and no Indians, so to speak,” put in Claude, with an eyebrow stressing this choice of words. “Of course your father would like you with him in the field, now that you’re a blooded
coureur de bois
.” Claude grinned, and his glance indicated Dylan’s
gage d’amour
. Dylan knew all this was intended as flattery. “But we don’t know where the field is.” He hesitated. “Do you want to stay in Montreal?”

Claude and Amalie tried not to look at each other.

“Yes, I’ll need some sort of job,” said Dylan.

“Ah, we’ll come up with something at the warehouse.” That was the hub of Campbell Trading Company, but the employment there was menial. “And you’ll be wanting lodging of some sort.”

Dylan marked that.

“Don’t worry, if Mr. Campbell succeeds, we’ll all be rolling in money.” Claude stood and clapped Dylan on the shoulder. Everyone rose uncertainly.

“Would you like to see what I’ve done with the rest of the house?” asked Amalie.

“Yes, especially my room,” said Dylan.

As they passed down the hall toward the stairs, Claude said softly in Dylan’s ear, “I guess what we’re actually wondering, old chap, is where the child’s mother is.”

Dylan looked him in the eye. “She’s dead,” he said. The picture of Harold in his arms at the last hit him so hard he swayed. He turned away so Claude couldn’t see his face.

Dylan was startled. The room where he’d slept for twenty years, dreamed his boyhood dreams, and lusted his teenage lusts, was a nursery.

“I wanted the lightest room for the children,” said Amalie, “and these windows are wonderful.”

His bed was gone, and his desk. An open-sided crib instead, the latest thing.

“The children are only a hope now, of course,” said Amalie shyly, one hand on her belly.

“Your books are stored in the attic,” she said.

Dylan cared nothing for most of the books, which explained accounting procedures and the workings of business. He’d like to have the novels and the volumes of verse back.

“This room is just as Dada left it,” Amalie said, gesturing across the hall. It was the room where Ian Campbell slept for years, when he was in town. “Dada may want a place of his own one day, but for now he’ll stay with us.”

“He’s not planning to be here much,” said Claude. “He’s like you—favors the rough life.”

Dru and Anastasie looked in too. Lara was asleep in the cradle board on her back. Dylan could see that Anastasie wanted to touch things and didn’t dare.

“This room,” Amalie said, opening another door, “I’m proud of.”

It was the old guest bedroom, completely redone in the fashionable Queen Anne style. It was handsome, with its walnut, rosewood, and mahogany, and very alien. Dylan remembered Aunt Meredith spending all those years in that room. He didn’t think she would like it now.

“I hope you’ll use this room tonight, Dylan.” She thought a moment and went on brightly. “The child and her godparents perhaps would be comfortable in the nursery?” She looked enthusiastically at Anastasie, who nodded. Dylan was sure Anastasie had never gotten to spend a night in a proper house.

“Tomorrow we’ll have to switch things around. The McLeods will be staying with us. From Vermont? Quite wealthy. Claude is showing them some land.”

“Fine opportunities,” put in Claude. “Someone will do well in these lots.”

Dylan had a strange imagining for a moment. In his mind’s eye he saw the lodge pitched on the edge of the woods on the river above town, and himself, Lara, Dru, and Anastasie in it, plus Saga and Lady Sarah. In this waking dream Amalie and Claude came to visit with a prosperous-looking couple. He noticed particularly, for some reason, the trimmings of fur on the collars and cuffs of their elegant coats. Amalie was saying, “This is the center fire, which is proper to
these
people. This is the willow backrest, which is proper to people like Indians and Dylan… Davies. This is a cradle board, which proper Indians hang their children in. Of course, the children very indecorously make messes in the bottom.”

In the real world Lara yawned audibly. He saw that she was waking up, and lifted her into his arms. Suddenly he wanted very much to hold her.

“Would you care to see the warehouse, which we now call the office?” said Claude eagerly. “I’ve made considerable changes. I’m quite proud of them, actually.”

Dylan shrugged. Why not?

A shiny new vehicle stood in front of the house. “Did you notice my new carriage?” asked Claude. “I bought it to show people property. Must make a good impression. One day Amalie and I hope to have a carriage house. Well, off to the office?”

Dylan looked at Dru uncertainly. “I’ve never ridden in a carriage,” said Anastasie with childish eagerness.

After they got out in front of the building that housed Campbell Trading, Claude stopped to talk to a frock-coated man on the street. The fellow glanced at Anastasie oddly, Dylan thought, probably put off by the presence of an Indian.