Legacy

Chapter 12

With a strong wind that came up behind them unexpectedly, La Maribelle sailed into port a few days early. The journey had taken a little less than eight weeks, and Wachiwi stood on deck, wondering what would happen when they came into port. She knew the name of his family’s château, he had mentioned it often, it bore his name, but she had no idea how to get there, or how to find his brother, or what he would do when he discovered Jean was dead. Perhaps he would send her away. And she had nowhere to go. She had given the captain Jean’s money for safekeeping, but she didn’t know how much it was, or how far it would get her. She knew nothing about white man’s money, all she knew about was trading for furs and horses. And that would do her no good here.

The captain was pondering the same thing as they docked the ship in Saint Malo. He wondered if someone would come for her, or if they would accept her without her husband. He had been thinking of making her an offer. He had lost his own wife ten years before, and had never remarried. He liked her and she was beautiful and alone now. She had given away all of Jean’s possessions except herself. And the captain decided to wait discreetly to see what happened.

People on the quai watched La Maribelle come into port, and it took them a while to tie up at the dock. There were sandy beaches and rocky headlands stretched out on either side of the port. It was beautiful and rugged as Wachiwi looked around her while the freight they had carried was unloaded. The passengers anxiously got off the ship, hungry for land and unsteady on their feet after their long confinement at sea. Their trunks were taken off, and arrangements were made to take them to their final destinations. After looking through Jean’s papers, the captain sent one of his men to the Château de Margerac nearby on horseback, to tell the marquis that the ship had docked. The sailor came back two hours later without comment. He said he had informed one of the servants, they thanked him, and he left and came back. He never saw the marquis and they had no idea if he was coming. The sailor did not tell them that the marquis’s brother had died, the captain thought it better not to.

All the other passengers had left the ship by then, and the captain very kindly told Wachiwi that she was welcome to stay on board for the two weeks they would be in port, in case no one came for her. They were both beginning to think the marquis might not come. Perhaps there was some quarrel between the two brothers that Wachiwi didn’t know about. And the offer the captain made her to stay aboard was a prelude to any other offer he might make her before he left again. He didn’t want to speak of it prematurely.

Wachiwi was sitting quietly on deck, looking out to sea sadly, near the spot on the ship where they had slipped Jean’s body into the ocean, when the captain saw an enormous black carriage roll toward them, pulled by four white horses, with liveried footmen front and back, and a crest emblazoned on the door. It was an impressive carriage, and the man who descended from it minutes later even more so. He was the image of his younger brother, only broader, taller, and visibly a decade older, but still a very handsome man, and he looked every inch the nobleman he was, although simply and inconspicuously dressed. He was wearing a dark blue coat much like his brother’s, which the captain was the proud owner of now. The captain immediately left the ship, went to the dock, and bowed low to the marquis.

“I’m honored, sir, by your presence,” the captain said humbly, his hat rapidly shoved under his arm, as the marquis looked over the ship, stunned by how small it was to make such a long trip. He knew it couldn’t have been pleasant for those aboard.

“I’m here to meet my brother. The Comte de Margerac,” he explained, but the captain already knew.

“I’m aware of that sir, your honor.” He bowed low again as he said it. It wasn’t often he saw noblemen like this one, of such obvious distinction. “I’m afraid I have unfortunate news for you. Your brother fell ill halfway through the trip. Quinsy, I believe it was, sir, a terrible illness of the throat. He succumbed a little more than two weeks ago, and we were obliged to bury him at sea.” The marquis froze where he stood and looked at the captain, as though he had been shot. The prodigal son, or brother in this case, had almost returned to him, and now he was gone, and never would. It was beyond thinking, and tears instantly blinded the older brother’s eyes. Without shame, he wiped them away. Although he hadn’t seen him in five years, he was deeply attached to Jean and loved him dearly.

“Oh my God, how awful. I just got the letter days ago that he was coming, and this morning your message that you’d docked. How terrible. Did others get the disease?”

“No, no one, sir. Not yet.” He didn’t say it, but his own throat had been sore for a few days, but he had no fever and felt otherwise healthy, so he had said nothing. It might have just been a cold, or a draft. He didn’t want to panic the passengers before they arrived, so he had kept silent about it. “I’m very sorry. He seemed like a good man.”

“He was.” Despite his years of absence, Tristan still loved him as he always had. Jean had almost been more like a son to him than a brother, or both, and now he was dead. Tristan was heartbroken at the thought. It was devastating news.

“His wife is still here, sir,” the captain said softly, as though mentioning a forgotten trunk a passenger had left, and he saw that the marquis looked startled, as though he didn’t know about her. All Jean had written was that he intended to marry the girl he was bringing home with him, not that he already had. Knowing him, Tristan wondered if what the captain said was true or not. He knew his brother well enough to suspect that he might have claimed to be married to her in order to preserve her reputation until they did marry in France.

“Where is she?” the marquis asked, still overwhelmed by the shocking news, as the captain pointed to the deck, to a solitary figure sitting there with her back to them as she stared out to sea, oblivious to the fact that Jean’s brother had arrived.

The marquis nodded, boarded the ship, and walked up a short stairway to where she sat. He wasn’t sure what to say to her, except that he was sorry, and knew they both were. Her dark hair hung straight down her back, and he made a sound to warn her that he was behind her. She turned slowly and saw him, and there was no mistaking who he was. He looked so exactly like Jean, only larger, more serious, and more imposing, but he had warm eyes. She almost wanted to throw her arms around him, but didn’t dare. Instead she stood up and looked at him, and dropped the low curtsy Jean had taught her, as Tristan looked at her in amazement. Jean had not written to him that she was a Sioux. And the full force of it hit Tristan now. Jean had wanted to come home with an Indian girl, only she had arrived, and he hadn’t. He was speechless for a moment as he looked at her, stunned by both her origins and her beauty, and bowed low in answer to her curtsy.

“Countess,” he said, and reached for her hand to kiss it, but she didn’t let him.

“We didn’t marry,” she said softly. “We were going to here.” She didn’t want to lie to him and was honest immediately.

“I know, that’s what he wrote me… but the captain said…” She shook her head with a shy smile. She didn’t want to pretend to Jean’s brother to be something she wasn’t. She was not a countess, and never would be now. She didn’t mourn the title, only the man.

“I’m so sorry. For both of us,” he said kindly. “What will you do now?” He had no suggestion to offer, and was completely at a loss himself. What was he going to do with an Indian girl who had nowhere to go in France, and surely no money of her own?

“I don’t know. I can’t go back to my people.” She had caused a chief to be killed and she and her people would be blamed for it entirely and punished severely by the Crow if she returned. There was no going back for her. Jean had known that. His brother didn’t.

“Perhaps you can stay for a while until you decide,” he said gently. He could see how devastated she was about his brother, and so was he. He had been prepared to celebrate, and now he would be in mourning for the brother he hadn’t seen in five long years. “Will you come with me?” he asked politely. She nodded and followed. She had nowhere else to go.

Wachiwi left the boat with Jean’s brother. She thanked the captain in the greatly improved French she had learned on the trip. And the marquis handed her into his carriage, and told the captain he would send another shortly for her trunks. Then the impressive carriage took off at a fast clip and left the port, and turned sharply toward the hills. Wachiwi had noticed the beautiful horses and wished that she could ride them. She saw that Jean’s brother was looking at her intently, as though studying her face, trying to discover who she was, and why his brother had loved her. For now, it was all a mystery to him. And then he realized something else.

“Jean never told me your name.” He had a kind face, Wachiwi decided, just like his younger brother. His was softer and not as full of fire and passion as Jean’s, but he had gentle eyes.

“I am called Wachiwi,” she said simply in French.

“You’re Indian, I presume.” There was no judgment in it, just a statement, unlike the people she’d met in New Orleans, who made “Indian” sound like a curse.

“Sioux,” she answered.

“I’ve met two of your great chiefs in our king’s court,” he said as they drove to the château where both brothers had grown up. “Perhaps they were related to you,” he said, trying to be pleasant, and still trying to absorb that the brother he loved was dead, and he had brought an Indian girl back to France. It was a lot to digest all at once. And what would he do with her now? Where would she go? He couldn’t keep her at the château forever. He would have to help her figure out something, but for now she could stay at the château with him and his children. And then Tristan smiled to himself as he looked out the window of the carriage. It was so like Jean to do something like this, to fall madly in love with an Indian girl, which was bound to shock everyone, and then die and leave Tristan to deal with her. He laughed as he thought about it, and smiled as he turned to Wachiwi. There was something totally absurd about it, and totally outrageous. And wonderful in a way too. He was sure that she was a remarkable girl if Jean had loved her enough to want to marry her. He had yet to discover what Jean had loved in her, and she was certainly very pretty. Tristan looked at her with a fatherly air and smiled. “Welcome to France, Wachiwi.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” she said politely, just as Jean had taught her, and then they sat silently together, and rode the rest of the way to the château.

Tristan could easily imagine Jean smiling at them, from wherever he was, or even laughing. Wachiwi, lost in her own thoughts, could feel Jean close to her, and had ever since he died. Even more so now that she was here.