Gabriella Read online

  I know that she would never say it to me, but her feelings towards Edward’s father run to disdain. I once overheard a conversation in which Father told her that the Earl of Waterston had ruined his chances for high rank in the British army. I have brought the subject up with Edward and he assures me that his feelings towards me have nothing to do with anything but love.

  The main reason I agreed to marry him was his assurance that I could pursue my own career. It has been my intention from the beginning to make myself well known and garnish a fortune of my own. I feel I can achieve that through my art.

  I owe much to Uncle Walter, who took it upon himself to look after Mother and me after Father’s death. He insisted that I pursue my interest in painting by attending the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris, at his expense, where I studied portraits and landscapes, and developed a unique style of my own that, should the right opportunities present themselves, will surely bring me fame and fortune.

  I have long been planning on that success and have told Uncle often that one day I will pay him back in full. “Nonsense!” he always says. “Your talent was well worth the investment.” He has asked only that I not hastily marry Sir Edward and ruin any chances of making my own fortune. Uncle says he knows Edward well enough to understand that he will not accept being “upstaged” by anyone.

  He once wondered aloud why Sir Edward chose me. “You are far too independent for his tastes, it would seem,” he said. “And there were a number of us who wagered he would never marry anyone.”

  Edward supposedly had never approached a woman for marriage before me, though he might have taken any one of his choosing. There will never be a shortage of women awaiting a wealthy man’s hand.

  Though Uncle might believe that Edward is not the right man for me, the two share the same ideals. As military men both are dedicated to the Crown and both see the burgeoning American boundaries as a threat not only to England but Spain as well. Though I’m not a student of war, I do know that they both believe it would be of great benefit to all of Europe if Britain and Spain could somehow hold their claims within the North American continent.

  Word of intense American expansion into New Mexico and California to the southwest and Oregon to the northwest fills the St. Louis papers. Imminent war with Mexico looms on the horizon, and along the northern boundary of Oregon, the cry of “Fifty-four, Forty, or Fight!” has aroused ire in the settlers there.

  Uncle Walter realizes that the Mexican conflict will never concern him, but he told me that he thinks constantly about the Oregon trouble. He and Edward, both, have holdings in the powerful Hudson’s Bay Company and perceive the American expansion as a dire threat. The Company has over many decades successfully competed for furs and trade goods from the Indians, and now their stronghold is weakening.

  Another of my uncles, Walter’s younger brother, Reginald, holds a position at Fort Vancouver, on the Columbia River, right in the heart of the contested territory. It bothers me not just a little that our ultimate destination is that very location. Should war between England and the United States break out, it will certainly prove troublesome.

  Gabriella’s Journal

  5 APRIL 1846, 4TH ENTRY

  I disembarked from the carriage in front of the Planters’ Hotel and looked up towards the third floor. Uncle Walter was peering down, puffing on his ever present cigar. I knew what he was thinking: He was trying to read my mood from the manner of my gait, which I must admit was rather stiff. He could no doubt see that I didn’t appear shaken, which meant Sir Edward had prevailed in the duel. But he was aware that Edward had likely ordered me back to the hotel while he remained at the boat.

  Barton escorted me to the third floor and departed for his room down the hallway. I asked him if he didn’t wish to visit Walter and Avis with me, but he begged off, saying all he desired was rest and a chance to be alone.

  I didn’t even have to knock, for Uncle was holding the door open for me, bidding me inside.

  “You didn’t see your aunt, did you?” he asked.

  “I assumed she was here.”

  “I fell asleep and she left a note saying she was going shopping with another lady from the hotel and would try to meet you at the boat.”

  “I didn’t see her.”

  Walter puffed on his cigar. He turned to the window and after spotting a carriage with Avis in it, turned back to me.

  “She’s becoming more adventurous than you.”

  Soon she came into the room and asked about Edward.

  “I thought you went to the boat,” Walter said.

  She took off her wrap. “I decided to come straight back. So, what about the duel?”

  “He prevailed,” I said.

  Walter added, “Certainly you couldn’t believe he’d get the worst of the morning.”

  “I should doubt it,” she said. “He never has before.”

  “Perhaps you worry too much about him, my dear,” Walter said.

  “He should be here,” I said. “He remains on the levee. His work is much more important than me.”

  Uncle took a seat in a nearby rocker and puffed his cigar while Avis put her hand on my arm.

  “You must understand, Ella, he has a lot to do before we can leave.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t defend him all the time,” I said.

  “I’m merely stating a fact. He must see to it that the workers do their job. Tell me, did he have trouble besting the Frenchman?”

  “No, and I’m afraid he’s made some bitter enemies in the process.”

  “Surely it was a fair fight?”

  “It was fair, but he insisted on killing the man from point-blank range. That puzzles me.”

  I related how Mr. LaBruneue had announced his satisfaction in the dispute after having been wounded and how Edward had then demanded his own satisfaction.

  Walter turned in his chair. “Are you saying that he insisted on dueling again?”

  “Yes. First he shot him in the throat, and then he blew his brains out.”

  I watched Uncle puff hard on his cigar.

  “That Frenchman should never have made accusations against Edward,” Avis said.

  “Edward could have let the remark pass,” I said. “It would have saved time and, I fear, trouble.”

  Walter rocked in his chair, smoking his cigar.

  “Oh, well, we’ll be well on our way by tomorrow this time,” Avis said. “It should be lovely traveling upriver.”

  She took a seat and began writing in her diary. I walked to the easel in the corner of the room and studied my latest watercolor. I shouldn’t have worked so fast. There were many details that glared out at me. Perhaps not to Avis and Walter—they thought the work a masterpiece—but certainly to me.

  The two sat for a good period of time, making it easy for me, never complaining. I’ve often thought what it would be like to complete a portrait of a true wild tribesman of the plains and what kind of subjects they would be. The European establishment is very interested in the American Indians and I am counting on a strong market for my work.

  The European frontier has been gone for many years and everyone is curious what it must be like traveling untamed wilderness peopled by untamed savages. I use the term “savages” because that is the term most often heard. I was once told by a fellow student in Paris, though, that the warriors are seldom as uncivilized as the artists who pursue them.

  I intend to finish many pieces both in watercolor and oil. The oils will have to be completed after my return to Lancashire, as working in the field and protecting the canvasses would be next to impossible. Having the work jostle about in a wagon would only be inviting irreparable damage.

  I will complete the new paintings in oil from sketches and watercolors made in the field, and hope to have many hundreds of pieces to work from. The prospect excites me and I grow ever more anxious to leave.

  I don’t know at this point if I can agree with Uncle about Edward’s concern over my art. Though he has never commente
d on my work, I believe he cares, for he’s very eager to have himself painted with a trophy white buffalo he has promised himself he will locate and shoot. He has found and commissioned a taxidermist to travel with us for the sole purpose of preserving the heads and hides of various game animals for mounting later.

  Uncle Walter says that the task will be immense. Our initial destination is Fort Union, somewhere along the upper Missouri, where Edward intends to procure enough horses and mules to haul at least one specimen of every large animal he can find. He intends to sell the steamboat to Alexander Culbertson of the American Fur Company, and we will travel on from there over the trails and to the distant boundaries of Oregon, where, at Fort Vancouver, we will board a ship and return to Lancashire.

  Edward will never be deterred from his plans, be they oftentimes far-fetched. I wonder if he considers my desire to make my own fortune painting portraits unattainable, or if he even thinks about it at all. I see no reason to dwell on it one way or the other, as I shall be successful someday, whatever it takes.

  Avis eventually put her diary away and said to me, “Why don’t we do some shopping?” I told her that would be fun and she added, “You can choose a new dress and I’ll buy it for you.”

  “Oh, Avis, you don’t have to do that,” I said.

  “I want to, and I’ll get something new myself. We’ll dine on the plains in style.” She turned to Walter. “Can you do without me for a short while?”

  Walter lit another cigar. “Of course, my dear. Take your time.”

  Gabriella’s Journal

  7 APRIL 1846

  Avis and I had a grand time shopping. Though she has never concerned herself about spending money, I found her to be overly generous. She almost tried too hard in her efforts to see me smile.

  Back at the hotel, Uncle Walter informed us that Edward had finally returned, but just long enough to announce that he must go back to the boat and oversee the last of the loading. He told Uncle that he would join us all for dinner well before sundown. Since the sun was falling and he still hadn’t arrived, I insisted we go and look for him.

  We reached the White Bull, which lay at anchor along the levee. The boat rested gently in the current and as twilight settled in over the city, it appeared that the work had been finished. But there was still no sign of Edward.

  I left Walter and Avis in the carriage while I went to look for him. Uncle puffed anxiously on a cigar while Avis concerned herself over the dangers of a lady exploring a riverboat on her own. I assured her that at this point, I would be the one who was dangerous to anyone who crossed me.

  I lifted the hem of my new gown and strolled along the upper deck, calling for Edward. I worked my way down a stairway and stopped again to call out for him. A slight breeze had arisen and with it a hint of moisture.

  I stopped at the furthest point forward on the bow and leaned over the railing, looking towards the carriage. Perhaps he had left the boat and I had missed him somehow. But he was nowhere below, and I continued my search, passing what appeared to be two guards who stood watch, their flintlocks resting over their shoulders. I asked if either had seen Edward.

  “Not for some time, m’lady,” one said.

  The other one added, in a heavy French accent, “Oui, not for some time.”

  I stared at the Frenchman and he regarded me with an odd expression. I had seen neither of them before and felt certain they were not among the guards Edward ordinarily kept on watch.

  “Don’t worry,” the Frenchman said. “We will find him.”

  “Are you saying he’s lost?” I asked.

  The other one spoke up quickly. “No, ma’am, he’s not saying that.”

  “Then what exactly are you saying? Where is he?”

  “He’s on the boat,” the Frenchman said. “Somewhere on the boat.”

  I was certain now that I had never seen either of them before. The other man, tall and thin, would not look at me, but the Frenchman now glared with defiance. He had dirty long hair and large seashells in his ears, making his appearance appalling. When I asked him his name, he handed his rifle to the tall man and grabbed me roughly around the waist, pinning my arms at my sides. I shrieked and fought but still could not break his hold.

  A large man in buckskins, who had come out of a nearby warehouse, looked up and asked what was happening. I recognized his voice and knew him to be Devon Machele, our guide. I continued to struggle, losing my hat, but could not break free. The Frenchman had clamped his hand over my mouth, making it impossible to cry out. Devon Machele hurried up the stairs, still demanding to know what was going on.

  The tall one had hidden himself from view and when Mr. Machele approached, he showed himself and shot the guide through the breast. Mr. Machele toppled backwards and over the railing, into the river below.

  More men burst from the warehouse and suddenly rifle fire broke out everywhere. The White Bull began to drift away from the levee and I clawed at the Frenchman, my fingernails digging into his face. He cursed and dragged me to the deck’s edge, and threw me overboard.

  I hit the water hard, losing my breath. I could feel myself sinking and struggled to swim upward, my water-soaked clothes holding me back. When I broke the surface and gasped for air, I discovered the Frenchman beside me in the water.

  “Do not struggle against me,” he warned as he grabbed me, dragging me to a canoe that hugged the levee. Another man pulled me up, while the Frenchman, spitting water, climbed in after me.

  “Hurry!” he told the other man. “We must get away.”

  I demanded to know what was happening, but the Frenchman again covered my mouth with his dirty hand.

  “Don’t talk. You hear me?” he hissed. “I won’t tell you again.”

  The two men worked feverishly to paddle the canoe. Soon we were a hundred yards from the White Bull. I sat silently between them, still stunned from my fall into the river. I stared back to see the large riverboat drifting out into the current. Men jumped from the deck into the water, and the darkness was filled with flashes of fire from the rifle barrels.

  Suddenly a series of explosions hurled fire into the night. Flames quickly engulfed the boat and more men jumped overboard as the sides blew out. The yelling grew fainter as my captors paddled the canoe steadily upriver.

  I felt weak-kneed, worrying that Edward had been caught in the blast.

  “Why would you do such a thing?” I asked.

  The men rowed silently.

  “I demand to know the meaning of this.”

  “I told you not to speak,” the Frenchman said. “Do you want me to gag you with a filthy cloth?”

  I sat silently while they paddled through the darkness. Behind, the flames danced against the city’s outline and finally disappeared as we rounded a bend.

  I realized we had entered the mouth of the Missouri River. The two men kept the canoe near the bank, as the river was swollen from spring rainfall. The water roiled and boiled in the channel and in the darkness, it roared in my ears.

  A distance upriver, we were forced to put ashore and walk along a trail steeped in shadows, the two men carrying the canoe over their heads. In no time my dress was torn by wild roses and thornapple, my skin scratched and irritated. Clouds rolled in overhead and covered the moon. Soon the air filled with mist.

  I thought about running away but the Frenchman said, “If you don’t want to drown in the river, you’ll stay close.”

  We came to a calmer stretch of water and put in, angling out into the current. The clouds parted briefly and I could see the moon, milky white in a strange and distant sky.

  We put ashore again, and after more thrashing through the undergrowth, I grew completely exhausted. I told the men I had to stop and rest. The Frenchman took me by the arm and pulled me close to him.

  “Maybe you want me to lay with you, is that it?”

  Angered, I pushed away from him, but he grabbed me again.

  “Leave her alone,” said the taller man. “We have no time
for that.”

  I was fighting with all I had. The taller man took a length of tree limb and threatened to club the Frenchman.

  “I said, leave her alone!” he yelled. “Jean-Claude Latour! If you must have her, then wait until we get back to camp. I’m not getting myself into any bind over the likes of you.”

  The Frenchman pulled his knife, then sheathed it, saying, “We have lost too many as it is. But don’t ever threaten me again.”

  Latour looked at me as if he would take any opportunity to rape me.

  Back in the canoe, I told myself that I had to try to escape. In the darkness it was impossible to tell how far we had come or how many little settlements we had passed.

  They steered the canoe to a large island, where Latour ushered me roughly through a dense stand of willows and into a small clearing where a dozen white tents stood in a circle. Lanterns glowed within each of them and soon a half-dozen coarse-looking men encircled me, staring.

  Lamar, the large Indian on Bloody Island with the frontiersman, stepped forward and addressed the Frenchman.

  “What is this? Where are the others?”

  “We fired the boat,” Latour said. “This woman is insurance that Edward Garr will not go ahead with his plans.”

  “What a fool you are,” Lamar said. “You say you go in to recruit others for the journey, but instead you lie and make a lot of trouble for us.”

  “You talk as if you don’t care about LaBruneue’s death,” the Frenchman said.

  “I cared a great deal for him,” the Indian said. “That does not mean I believe in doing crazy things.”

  “Then you must believe it is good to have the Britisher building an army against us.”

  I had wondered if the attack on the boat might not be in retaliation for Edward’s killing of Mr. LaBruneue, but now it seemed as if they had other motives as well.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked the men. “What is this talk about Sir Edward leading an army?”

  Latour walked up and glared at me. “He is a Hudson’s Bay man. Don’t you know that?”