Sacajawea (41 page)

Soon Clark was bent on the other side of the pallet, his big, rawboned hand feeling the smooth skin on the face of the papoose.

Sacajawea tried to scowl fiercely; she did not like to be laughed at. But she knew she had been a funny sight squirming out of a tunic as large as a tepee. She continued to frown as she gathered the wide open neck of the nightshirt close around her neck. She was cold. She looked from Charbonneau to Clark. Calmer now, she realized they were not ridiculing her, but were interested in her welfare and the newborn child. She smiled and handed the tiny papoose to Clark for inspection. The papoose was swaddled in a soft white doeskin with much absorbent cattail fluff stuffed in the bottom half of the wrapping cover.

“Pompy,” she said.

“What? Is that his name?” asked Clark, taking the swaddled baby like a rare porcelain doll and holding him to the firelight. Clark sat on his haunches and looked at the tiny brown hands and long, silky black hair. “Perfect,” he said, then asked again, “What name did you give him?”

Charbonneau answered eagerly, “He is called Jean Baptiste.”

“No, I mean what the little mother calls him. Maybe some nickname.”

Charbonneau spoke a few phrases in Hidatsa.

Reluctantly, Sacajawea took her eyes from the child. “Pompy,” she said with a hint of pride. She lay back to rest a moment.

“That Pompy is firstborn in the tongue of her people, I think,” explained Charbonneau. “He’s known by me as Jean Baptiste. A good French name.” He crossed himself and spit into the fire, making it hiss. “That’s same name as LePage. And it is my brother’s name, and my papa’s name, also.”

“LePage will be pleased to have a namesake,” said Clark, his hands under the baby’s head and back as he pushed him under the robes toward his mother. Sacajawea pulled down the top of the nightgown and put the baby to her breast before he began to whimper.

“I like that Pomp name best.” York grinned.

“Looks like the papa, eh?” asked Charbonneau, coming over to the pallet.

“I had thought he looked like his mother, sweet and innocent,” said Clark, laughing.

Sacajawea began to crawl out of the robes, her feeling of being laughed at making her uncomfortable.

“I’m not making fun of you,” said Clark anxiously. “I’m not laughing at you. Please.” His blue eyes pleaded with her to understand that he had not meant to torment her. He could never hurt any living thing.

It was curious how his look affected her. She gazed into his eyes and saw at the same time the yellow glints of firelight dancing off his shock of red hair. Her mind began to rest easy, and she knew she could trust him. She had learned politeness from Grasshopper, and it tied her tongue. She could not hurt Chief Red Hair’s feelings.

“You, mama, stay put. I’se going to make hot tea for you. And you men want some?” York asked as he watched Sacajawea crawl back into the fur robes.

The men nodded.

“With sugar,” added Charbonneau, tugging at his capote.

It was comforting to lie there with the soft robes around and the fire warming her side. It reminded Sacajawea of nights when she’d slept on a pile of robes with Grasshopper crooning nearby. She thought how comforting Grasshopper had been. That had been the best time she could remember in her whole life. York had the same comforting qualities. He had the same wise mixing of authority and tenderness so that she had not been frightened to have her papoose among the paleface men. She was relaxed with York around. She did not understand how he managed to give her peace of mind, but she trusted him completely. Now she sat up and drank the hot, sweet tea, enjoying the hushed tones of the men as they talked of the day’s work ahead of them. She had a drowsy sense that the whole world was filled with blue sky and sunshine, and York merged with the big black Newfoundland dog, Scannon, who had sneaked back inside the cabin to sleep at her side.

When she woke up, she was cold. The men had gone, and the fire was low. It was daylight, and the camp was in a hubbub, like a village on trading fair day, with moccasined feet pounding on the hard-packed dirt and people calling out names and men bawling back at them.

Then she noticed that the room had been put in order, and a handsome carved and woven cradleboard stood at one side of the fireplace so that she could easily see it. The weaving was familiar to her, and she knew at once that her adopted Metaharta mother, Grasshopper, had done the work.

The Minnetaree grapevine had worked quickly to bring news of Sacajawea’s firstborn to Grasshopper. She wondered if Charbonneau had spread the news or if Otter Woman had gone to visit Grasshopper.

She lay on her back and looked at the split cotton-wood log ceiling. She felt good. She stretched herself lazily, her arms flat against the hides and all her fingers spraddled. She curled one arm around the sleeping baby, scratching her belly with the other and, at the same time, pulling up the linsey nightgown that was itself scratchy. It was then she noticed that she wore a woman’s belt packed thickly with cattail down. She remembered a pile of it heaped in one corner of the cabin. Not since being with Grasshopper had she been treated with such consideration. York came in with more sweetened tea. “You better get between them covers. Gather your strength afore you gad about, little mama,” he scolded gently. Noticing her wistful expression, he whistled softly. Scannon padded in, right to the edge of her pallet, sniffing, then curling himself as small as possible between her and the fire. York nodded in approval, knowing he was taken by this guileless little squaw.

“Dog,” she said in English, surprising York. “Nice dog, nice York.”

York’s smile spread across his face. “Thank you, little mama.” York stepped forward. “Captain Clark, he told me to tell you about this here Injun squaw that came early this afternoon. She was decked out in some fine garb—yes, ma’am! Her hair was daubed with mud and wound around her head like a crown, and her ears was red painted inside. She made Captain Clark promise you got the papoose board. She was all for coming in to see you, but the captain, he made her understand you need rest. That there lady waddled off singing to herself. She was that happy you had a buck papoose. You know anybody like that?” His hands worked as he talked so that Sacajawea could read his hand signs.

“Ai,
Grasshopper!” she cried, sitting among the robes. “She did come!”

That afternoon, Charbonneau brought in the large hind quarter of an antelope and some of its entrails. He lounged around, smoking and talking and broiling the meat. He said that Otter Woman and Corn Woman had the rest of the animal. He wrapped a long piece of the small gut, which contained the marrow, around a stick and tied it. Then he held it to the fire until it sputtered and browned and the juice dripped. He ate it as he talked with Sacajawea and York about hunting with the Americans.

The weather became warm in the middle of the month, but by the end of February the men were again wearing their fur robes and Mackinaw coats. Sacajawea had moved back to the skin tent with Charbonneau. She sliced the meat he brought in and spread it out on drying racks in the sun—it froze before the moisture evaporated. But the meat dried because the water seemed to sublime rather than evaporate out in the subzero weather. She scraped the hides inside the tent where the center fire was warm.

One morning Charbonneau was called inside the fort because the Mandan subchiefs, Sheheke, the Coyote, and Kagohami, Little Raven, had come to see Captain Clark. Charbonneau took his older son, Little Tess, with him. The two chiefs shuffled their moccasins in a dance when they saw the three-year-old son of Charbonneau. Little Tess walked behind them, imitating their dancing. This made Sheheke laugh, and he pulled the child up on his shoulders while he danced. After their frolicking they motioned for Charbonneau to come sit with them on the floor of the officers’ cabin. Sheheke produced a pipe, and they smoked. Clark waited patiently for Charbonneau to translate why these subchiefs had come.

They wished to consult their Medicine Stone, about three days’ march to the southwest, and wanted Clark to go with them. Each spring, and sometimes in the summer, they visited the stone. They built a fire and let the smoke roll across the porous face of the rock, which was about twenty feet in circumference. Then they slept. In the morning the stone had certain shiny white markings that represented peace or war for their village. Sometimes other things could be read from the markings as well.

“Tell them,” said Clark, “that I would like very much to go with them, but I have promised my men working on the canoes that I would bring them more scraping knives for hollowing out the insides of the dugouts. I cannot go back on my word to my men.”

Sheheke smiled. “Chief Red Hair speaks true. He is a man to be trusted. He will not wage war with us unless he tells us first. Some other day he will come to our Medicine Stone.”

When they left, Charbonneau became owlish and rude. “They asked a favor. To them the Medicine Stone is great. They think you are impolite.”

Clark looked at Charbonneau. “I could see by Little Raven’s smile and the handshake that the Coyote gave that they thought I was right in keeping a promise I made first to my men. They are leaders and they understand that one’s own men must come first. That will hold for you, also, on our trip. You will follow orders, as the others do.”

Not looking Clark in the face, Charbonneau said, “By
Jésus
, on that trip I will not stand guard. I am an interpreter. I am not a soldier. I will go maybe as far as the big falls the Indians talk about. Then I wish to return here. This place, she is not so bad when I work for the Northwesters and Hudson’s Bay. I join hands with them. If I join with you, I want my share of rations—as much as I can carry. My squaw, she is sickly, see? She need plenty of good food, and sugar in her tea.” Charbonneau straightened Little Tess’s shirt, then drew himself up importantly. “I am interpreter for many years, I am somebody important here. I think I am important man, and I do not have to do the same things your soldiers do. I would not have to do that if I continued to work for the Northwesters.”

Clark was at a loss to know what to say in response to Charbonneau’s arrogance. After a long silence he answered, “Think it over for a couple of days. If the weather clears, we’ll be pulling out in three or four weeks. Maybe we can make an agreement so that you’ll take the responsibility we first spoke of. If not, I promise we’ll see if Monsieur Jussome will go with us.”

Charbonneau had not thought Captain Clark would let him go like that. He had expected an argument, but he thought the captain would give in to his demands and he would go with the expedition. Captain Clark was a hardheaded man, Charbonneau decided. He reached for his cap and sash and had stomped out the door before Clark could refill his pipe. Little Tess scampered behind his father, who shooed him back to the tepee alone.

Charbonneau did not return until dusk, drunk on trader’s rum.

“Do you wish your meal now?” asked Otter Woman.

“Shut up,” he answered in a surly tone. He had not liked the way that the American captain had spoken to him that afternoon, and he had decided that he ought to live on the other side of the river where the British trappers, MacKenzie and Larocque, had their camp. He was going to take his wives and two sons with him. He would live in a big skin tent and have many important guests and powwows in his lodge. He held his head to see if the fog inside it would clear. It settled deeper, making it hard for him to focus his eyes.

Leaning against a pile of furs, he gave orders to pack and get the gear by the water’s edge by nightfall, including the leather tepee they were in.

Otter Woman and Corn Woman, who hadn’t liked the idea of Charbonneau’s leaving them behind, immediately began preparing for the move while Sacajawea listened to Charbonneau with a growing horror. If they moved across the river, she would not be going back to the People. And she would never again see the black, laughing face of York or smell the warm, panting dog, Scannon, or see the stern face of owl-eyed Captain Lewis, or hear the deep voice of Chief Red Hair, or see the boyish grin of Shannon when he tried to teach Otter Woman his words.

“No!” Sacajawea said. “I won’t go!”

“When are you going to learn to keep your damn mouth shut?” barked Charbonneau. “You take orders from me with no back talk. Follow Corn—she takes orders like a squaw should.”

Corn Woman had already taken a load of furs outside, but Sacajawea could not stop. “I hate your ways.” She made furious signs with her quick hands. “If you leave the Americans, I will run away with my papoose where I can think and not be pushed down.” She trembled, surprised that she had actually said those bold words herself.

Angered, Charbonneau grabbed her arm, squeezing it until it was white, and hit her across the mouth, cutting deep into her lower lip. Now she said nothing, only wiped the bright red stain on the back of her hand. This physical pain did not hurt as much as the mental anguish that she felt with her hopes of going back to the People destroyed because she had a weak, foolish man.

Someone coughed and cleared his throat outside the tepee. It was their friend Baptiste LePage kicking the ice and snow from his boots. Sacajawea greeted the husky brown-eyed Frenchman with a half smile. LePage could pass for a Shoshoni, she thought. He had the same barrel chest with prominent sternum and clavicle, and the same long-stringed muscles in his thighs and legs. His wrist and hand bones, and his ankles were small. His hair was black and straight, without sheen, and he wore it banged, with a red band to keep it from falling in his eyes. He rarely wore a head covering. He had joined the Northwest Company long after Charbonneau, but he had stayed longer because the discipline appealed to his sense of getting a job well done. Charbonneau could never stay long with one outfit before he went off by himself as an independent trader or changed his mind unexpectedly, on a whim, as he had done now. LePage glanced around the tepee, then squatted beside Charbonneau and handed him his tobacco pouch. The two men talked in French while the women finished the packing. Little Tess, dressed for helping the women outside, grew warm and had to be unbundled. Sacajawea decided that no longer did she need a blanket on her papoose. She removed the robe and hung the cradleboard on a large peg on one of the lodgepoles.