“I told the children not to come to school tomorrow,” Eleanor said as she pulled her hood off her head and stepped into the house, wholly unaware of his wayward thoughts. Snowflakes fell from her coat, and she rubbed her hands together to restore the heat. “If this storm is anything like the others, we won’t be going anywhere for a day or two.”
Arran took her coat and hung it on a hook, thanking the good Lord for the snowstorms that forced them to stay inside, in each other’s company.
“How is Miriam?” she asked.
“Fiona is feeding her now.”
“Wonderful.” She went to the fire and extended her hands to the heat. She smiled at Nicolette, who looked up from kneading her dough.
“You’re in a good mood,” Arran said as he took a seat at the table. His work for the day was complete and he had little else to occupy his time. Truth be told, he’d been counting down the hours until she returned from the school.
“Little Cora McCoy recited her lessons perfectly today.” Eleanor’s brown eyes sparkled with the news. “She has studied and worked so hard. I could not be prouder.”
Arran could hardly pick Cora McCoy out of a line of all the students, but he loved how much pleasure Eleanor took from her work. Her passion and dedication were contagious.
The bedroom door opened, and Fiona stepped out with the plump eight-month-old Miriam on her hip.
Upon seeing Eleanor, Miriam squealed in delight and reached toward her.
Fiona laughed and handed the baby to her rightful mother. “Nicolette tells me Miriam has been eating hominy and milk-soaked biscuits in the evening.”
Eleanor nodded. “She loves them, especially when we sweeten the milk just a bit.”
“She’ll be ready to wean sooner than later, if you can get her to drink some of the milk from a cup.” Fiona was now visibly pregnant with her next child, and would no doubt be happy to complete her work as a wet nurse. The woman had not complained once, but Arran imagined it was a great sacrifice for her and her family.
“We’ll begin working on it immediately,” Eleanor promised, bouncing Miriam on her hip, her eyes shining as she held the little girl close.
Fiona nodded and then took her leave.
“Why not start practicing now?” Eleanor asked Miriam, who just grinned.
Setting a blanket upon the floor, Eleanor put Miriam on her bottom and placed a few of the baby’s toys nearby. There was a favorite rag doll, which she promptly put into her mouth to chew on, a wooden rattle, and two tin plates, which she loved to bang together.
Arran never tired of watching the baby grow and discover the world around her. She sat straight and grinned at him, and then wobbled, as if she might topple over. He quickly righted her, taking a seat on the ground beside her. Miriam clapped her hands and giggled, then she put her hands on the floor and popped up on her knees to crawl to Arran. Her blond hair had begun to grow, and she had one curl on the top of her head, and a few by her neck. Her blue eyes were changing, becoming as light as the sky on a crisp winter day. Arran had never met Anne West, but Eleanor had told him often that the baby favored her mother. He could only imagine that the minister’s wife had been a beautiful woman, if the baby was any indication.
While Eleanor retrieved a tin cup, Miriam used Arran’s legs to pull herself to her feet. She wobbled and he placed his hand behind her, to catch her if she fell.
The front door opened and Semple appeared with West and Robertson close behind him. West had been called to a nearby settlement to perform a funeral for one of the residents and Semple had left with Robertson earlier to see to one of the settlement horses that had become lame.
West stopped at the sight of Arran and Miriam on the floor together. Despite several attempts on Eleanor’s part, the minister had not grown close to his daughter. He had held her, on occasion, but had quickly given her back when the childshowed any fear or discomfort from being in his arms. Arran didn’t blame the baby. She hardly knew her father.
“When you have a minute,” Semple said to Arran, one brow raised, “I would like to speak to you and Mr. Robertson in my office.”
Arran set Miriam on her bottom and then rose from the floor. He caught Eleanor’s eye, to make sure she knew he was no longer minding the baby, then he followed Semple and Robertson into his office.
Closing the door, Arran took a seat across the desk from the governor.
There was heaviness around both Semple and Robertson, and Arran braced himself for whatever news they might deliver. Over the past few months, they had had many conversations about the growing numbers at Qu’Appelle, and what they planned to do to combat the North West Company’s aggression. He was certain they wanted to discuss their plans once again.
“I have received a missive from Lord Selkirk today.” Governor Semple pulled the letter from inside his coat and laid it on the desk for Arran to see. “It arrived just now from a coureur de bois.”
The coureurs were voyageurs who were adept at crossing great distances, at amazing speeds. In the spring, summer, and fall, they went by canoe, and in the winter, they used cariole sleds and dog teams. Arran took the paper into his hands and began to read.
“He arrived in New York this fall and made his way to Montreal before winter set in,” Semple explained, though Arran could plainly read the words Selkirk had written. “He plans to leave for Assiniboia as soon as the weather permits.”
“When he wrote the letter,” Robertson added, “he was in the process of making an appeal to the Governor-General of Canada,Sir Gordan Drummond. He is asking to obtain men to protect him on his journey.”
“The opposition from the North West Company in Montreal has been trying his patience,” Semple continued. “He is meeting with difficulty from every side, including the government, because the Nor’westers hold such power and authority in eastern Canada.”
