There had been so little to smile about lately, it did Arran good to slap his friend on the back and smile now. “I hope the same. It will be good to see some of our friends again.”
Old John grinned. “I’m happy they’re home.”
Home.
The word made Arran pause as he led Tiberius into the barn. Was Assiniboia home? He’d come to the Red River district from Nova Scotia as a fifteen-year-old clerk for the North West Company. For eight years, he’d labored along the banks of the Red River, working tirelessly to gain respect and admiration from the senior partners, hoping to become a wintering partner himself. But Duncan Cameron had other plans. Within two years of entering the Red River district, he’d ruined Arran’s good name and reputation by accusing him of stealing.
Instead of advancing to a wintering partner, Arran had left the North West Company in disgrace, and traveled to Scotland, where he’d started to work as Lord Selkirk’s agent. He’d been hired because of his familiarity with the Red River Valley and his desire to see it colonized. Lord Selkirk’s promise of land and money, if he kept the colony alive for five years, was a bonus. It helped that he’d been born in Inverness and still had relations in the area. He’d spent a year trying to recruit settlers for the colony, and in between his trips to the Highlands, he’d been a guest in Lord Selkirk’s home at St. Mary’s Isle on the southwestern coast of Scotland. It had been there, in the fairytale-like gardens and moonlit evenings, that Arran had met and fallen in love with Lady Selkirk’s cousin, Lady Eleanor Brooke.
Arran had thought that the Red River was his home until he’d met Eleanor. But when he’d returned to the district three yearsago, without her by his side, he had felt adrift on the open prairie. Not a day went by that he didn’t think about the lass he’d left behind, or the single letter she’d sent to him. Her words had been full of regret and longing, yet he’d realized they were just words and meant nothing to him anymore.
His wounds had still been too fresh to respond with any sort of decorum. Instead, he’d written her the harsh truth. He’d made a mistake. He should have never proposed. She wasn’t strong enough for this life of conflict and degradation. He’d ended the letter by telling her to forget about him and to leave his proposal in the past, where it belonged.
He had severed all ties with Lady Eleanor Brooke and tried to forget about her. His home was here in Assiniboia now.
So why was she always at the forefront of his thoughts?
“Do you think Old John will finally propose to the Widow MacDougal?” James led his horse into the stall in the fort’s barn and then lifted a currycomb from a hook.
Arran shrugged. “Who will perform the ceremony, if he does?” There hadn’t been a minister in the colony since the first year. No ministers or teachers. There had been two physicians, but they had been pushed out with the colonists who were hopefully returning from Jack River House now.
“Mayhap they’ll marry inà la façon du pays.” James gave each of the horses a scoop of precious grain, a mischievous grin on his face.
Marriage in à la façon du pays, or in the custom of the country, was a common arrangement between European fur traders and their Indian or mixed-race wives. It wasn’t a legal contract and was not done with vows, but in the consensual agreement of both parties. It could also be abandoned by either partner, at any time, without warning.
“I dinna think Mrs. MacDougal would approve.” Arran hung the harnesses and then left the barn with James by his side. “She might desire something a wee bit more legal.”
The storm in the west was fast approaching, blotting out the last rays of sunshine and bringing darkness to the edges of the prairie. The wind picked up, pushing against Arran’s back. He did not like the look of it and wished to get the settlers into the fort. The storms in Assiniboia could be relentless and destructive.
Old John was already at the bottom of the point, helping Mrs. MacDougal from the canoe she occupied. She took his hand in hers and looked up at him as if she’d never seen anything so wonderful in all her life.
The familiar faces of the settlers were like a balm to Arran’s weary soul, and when they saw all that had been done to perpetuate the colony’s success in their absence, there were tears of joy.
Colin Robertson, an employee of the Hudson’s Bay Company personally assigned to Lord Selkirk’s service, led the tired settlers, totaling forty-five men, women, and children, up the banks of the Red River to the fort’s eastern gate. The dark-haired Robertson was not tall or braw, but he was fearless and ruthless in the face of his enemies, making him a priceless ally to the Red River Colony.
While the others hauled their meager belongings into the fort, and began to set up their tents, Robertson sought out Arran.
“I have news.” Robertson was a man of few words, and he didn’t waste time on platitudes or meaningless conversation. “Shall we speak?”
“Aye.” Arran motioned to James to follow them into the governor’s house.
The two-story building sat in the eastern corner of the fort, overlooking the Red River. It was the finest residence inAssiniboia, commissioned by the previous governor. For now, it was Arran’s home, though he didn’t know how long it would be until Selkirk sent a replacement for Macdonell.
Opening the front door, the three men entered the common living space. Long, wide planks covered the floor and small windows on either end of the room let in the last vestiges of daylight. A table, a large fireplace, and a cupboard graced one wall and on the opposite wall were two doors. One led into the governor’s bedroom and the other into his office. A set of stairs in the far corner led up to several more bedrooms.
It wasn’t a fancy home, but it was well-built and spacious. It had been the place of many gatherings and strategic meetings for the colony.
Arran lit a match and set it to the wick of a lantern on a nearby table. He led the men into his office and indicated the chairs across from his. The large desk, which Governor Macdonell had built to his specifications, sat between them.
“What news have you to share?” Arran asked as he took his seat and set his musket against the desk.
Robertson wore a sword at his side. It clanked against the floor as he sat and faced Arran. “I’ve been told that another group of colonists has arrived at York Factory in Hudson Bay. You are to prepare for their arrival before winter.”
Arran met James’s gaze, and he knew what the older man was thinking without even asking. They needed settlers to make the colony successful, but more settlers meant more mouths to feed and bodies to protect. Until Lord Selkirk could guarantee their safety, new and unseasoned colonists would be a liability.
October 1, 1812
A cool breeze nipped at Eleanor’s nose. She bent her head against the wind and repositioned her arms to better protect Miriam’s small body. The baby was snug in the sling Fiona Ferguson had outfitted for her to carry the three-month-old child. Eleanor had transported her in the sling through their days at York Factory on the shores of Hudson Bay, through their weeks traversing the Nelson River to Jack River House, while they sliced through the massive waves of Lake Winnipeg, and now as they made the last leg of their journey up the mouth of the Red River. They would reach the settlement by day’s end, and their four-and-a-half-month journey would finally be over. Soon, Eleanor would begin her work as the settlement’s teacher, and see that every child in Red River Colony was educated.
