A grin turned up Arran’s lips as he looked down at the babe. “She’s a bonnie wee bairn. I dinna think my heart will be the same after holding her.” He met Eleanor’s gaze. “Now I ken why you love her so.”
Everything within her wanted to reach out and embrace them both, but she refrained and instead shared a quiet smile with Arran, loving that he understood this part of her.
“I dinna want to let her go, but I can see you’re needing to hold her and see for yourself that she’s safe and well.” He gently placed Miriam in her arms.
The baby was soft and sweet, and her chest was no longer tight with the croup. “Thank God,” Eleanor breathed as she closed her eyes and placed her cheek next to Miriam’s.
Arran did not speak, and when Eleanor opened her eyes again, she found him watching her.
“Did you bring me to my bed?” she asked quietly.
He nodded.
Eleanor swallowed the rush of emotions clogging her throat. She was still properly dressed—even her shoes were still on her feet—but the thought of him holding her in his arms, and lying her in her bed, brought heat to her cheeks and a strange, yet wonderful, sensation to her stomach.
It had been a long time since someone had taken care of her.
“You need your sleep, lass. I dinna want you to become ill.”
Now that Miriam was growing stronger, Eleanor would be able to sleep better. “Thank you for your help.” It was all she could manage to say, though she wanted to say so much more.
Chapter Nine
February 25, 1816
The winter drew on in cold, dark nights, and bright, bitter days. As the calendar flipped from one month to the next, the snow fell for days at a time. It gathered and blew on the prairie, until it was packed tight against the western stockade wall. Anyone could have scaled the wall and climbed right into the fort without any trouble, though few people would hazard a trip out in the severe, unpredictable weather.
Semple had returned, and the colony had survived its first wave of illness, but the buffalo were still scarce, and the food supplies had started to dwindle, forcing them to ration. Each day, the settlers were allowed one cup each of wheat and corn, two eggs per family, and the little milk they had was given to the children.
One afternoon in late February, Arran stood at the window inside the governor’s house and watched the activity in the fort yard. Behind him, near the fireplace, Nicolette worked quietly, preparing the simple meal of bread they would eat that night. There had not been any buffalo meat, and the pemmican hadrun out. It would still be months before they could return to Fort Douglas and plant their crops. Daily, he prayed for the buffalo to return.
Outside, the thermometer had taken a drastic dip and snow was falling, but the storm had not set in with a vengeance yet.
The door to the main hall burst open and a dozen children rushed out of the building, their small bodies bundled against the cold. They ran to their respective cabins, laughing and teasing each other along the way. Though things were dire, Arran thanked God that the colonists had begun to entrust their children to Eleanor’s teaching. They had started to accept her after the dance, but it was Eleanor’s devoted care to them during the illness that had won them over completely. Once Miriam was well, Eleanor had begun to visit the other sick families to administer help. They began to see her as an important part of the colony, like the governor, the minister, and the doctors. She was a liaison between the big house and the smaller cabins, asking for help from the governor and, in many cases, getting it.
A few minutes later, Eleanor appeared at the hall’s door, her Hudson’s Bay coat covering her body as she closed the door behind her and then turned toward the governor’s house. She wore the hood over her head, and her pink skirts showed from under the bottom of her coat. As she walked, her brown moccasins peeked out from beneath the hem of her dress. The contrast between a fine European lady and a seasoned Red River colonist made him smile.
For the past three winters, boredom and monotony had been Arran’s greatest enemy—but this year had been different. Each morning, when he opened his eyes, his heart pounded with the knowledge that he would see Eleanor at breakfast. Every afternoon, when he completed the tasks needed for the day, he began to turn his attention to the evening meal and theconversation he, Eleanor, Semple, and West would share around the supper table.
After supper, they played chess or cards, or Eleanor read aloud to them from the books she’d brought with her. There was never a boring or dull day with her in the house, and he was especially fond of the rare moments they had alone, though they were few and far between.
She had also planned weekly entertainments for the fort, bringing the Hudson’s Bay Company voyageurs and the colonists together into one community. During the evening gatherings, the children recited their lessons, performed historical skits, or participated in spelling and trivia contests. At Christmas, they had told the story of the Christ child born in Bethlehem and served sweet treats to those who attended. Twice, she had planned a dance, and the adults had braved a storm to make it to the main hall both times.
Her very presence in the fort had brightened everyone’s winter and showed Arran that entertainment and fun might not be necessary for survival—but it made survival bearable, even enjoyable. The others seemed to sense it, too, though he wondered if they felt the same quickening in their pulse when she appeared, or if the very thought of her kept them awake far into the night.
He watched Eleanor walk across the fort yard and opened the door for her even before she reached the house.
Her cheeks were glowing under the hood of her coat as she looked up at him and smiled. “Good afternoon,” she said.
He thought his heart might stop at the force of affection he felt for her. “How are you?”
“Cold, but good.”
Ever since the night he’d come into the house and found her fast asleep at the table, he could not forget holding her in his arms. She had weighed hardly anything, and the feel of her hadawakened every one of his senses. He had wanted nothing more than to hold her all night, wrapped in his embrace, covering her with his affection. The desire had been so intense, it alarmed him. If she had awakened, and allowed him to kiss her, he was afraid he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself. So, he quickly placed her in her bed, covered her in a quilt, and then retreated from her room as if his life depended on it.
He had always been attracted to her and desired to hold her in his arms, but the longing to possess her, heart, body, and soul, was new and all-consuming. In moments of weakness, such as this one, when his heart felt like it might burst with longing, he was tempted to throw all caution to the wind and declare himself to her—but when he allowed himself to let his mind wander down the road, and over the years, he always came to the final scene: Eleanor’s grave. It was morbid and cynical, but he could not shake the fear that staying in Assiniboia would eventually lead to her untimely death.
And the fear of him being the cause of her death, as he’d been the cause of his mother’s, left him feeling bereft of heart. He saw the same emotion mirrored in West’s eyes, when the minister spoke of his late wife. Arran did not want to live with the grief the other man shouldered. Even if Eleanor could not be by his side, the knowledge that she was safe and healthy, even across the ocean, would be far better than knowing she was dead.
