other tall man engaged in conversation with them, Santiago Quinn, a trader from Santa Fe who was in partnership with a fellow Spaniard, Manuel Lisa, one of St. Louis’s leading merchants. But she had never seen the stunning female before. Whatever her relationship with the handsome colonel, it was obvious they were on very friendly terms!
Olivia had waited impatiently for weeks, watching every time the crude long rafts ferried travelers across the turbulent Mississippi, hoping Samuel would be aboard. Finally she had all but despaired, thinking he had perhaps only teased a love-struck girl with promises to see her again.
Last week she had abandoned haunting the hill overlooking the landing at the bottom of Market Street. The riverfront was rough, filled with odoriferous fur warehouses and loud taverns inhabited by foul-mouthed Kaintucks, bold French voyageurs, and even painted red Indians. Of course, no one recognized her for she wore a disguise in such a neighborhood, but it was nevertheless a foolhardy place for a woman alone. She had believed her watch in vain. Perhaps it still was.
“You are wondering who the handsome young American is, are you not?” a gravelly voice whispered in French with a conspiratorial chuckle.
Olivia turned from her shockingly unladylike perusal of Samuel to confront the social arbiter and first lady of the city, Madame Chouteau, Auguste’s mother. The elderly woman’s small black eyes were surrounded by crinkling skin darkened by the hot Missouri sun. All her long life Madame had been an avid gardener and beekeeper, a wealthy woman unafraid to do unconventional things. “I know who he is,” Olivia confessed. “Colonel Shelby and I met while I was in Washington with my guardian.”
A broad smile pursed Madam’s lips, stretching the thin skin until it was drawn tight, revealing several missing teeth. Her shrewd eyes took on a speculative gleam. “Ah, then it is the woman with Count Aranda you wish to know about!”
Madame Chouteau used Santiago Quinn’s Spanish title. The Santa Fe trader was mysterious and much whispered about in St. Louis, but Olivia was not interested in him. “Is she Spanish then?”
“No. She is American as is her brother, although her French is flawless as your own. She is Elise Quinn, Aranda’s wife...the colonel’s sister.”
“His sister.” Olivia tried to tamp down the delight in her voice but knew she failed when Madame’s raspy chuckle tickled her ear.
“True, his sister. The colonel is a fine figure of a man, young, strong and quite devilishly handsome. I found him most charming.” A sly smile played about the old lady’s mouth as she regarded Olivia, then Samuel.
Madame Chouteau had always been a bold and self-possessed woman. Married off at fifteen to a man three times her age, she had found him so uncongenial that she did the unheard of in eighteenth-century New Orleans society. She took their young son Auguste and returned to the convent where she had been raised, although she did not languish there long. She fell in love with a dashing young adventurer named Pierre Laclede, the founder of St. Louis. Madame lived openly with him as his wife, for there was no divorce recognized among French Creoles. She had borne Laclede four children and followed him upriver to settle the raw frontier at the confluence of the Missouri and Mississippi rivers.
Upon learning the older woman’s background, Olivia had immediately felt a kinship with her. They both lived unconventional lives. “How long has he been in the city? I had hoped...” Her voice faded away as she realized she might well be making a fool of herself over a man who cared nothing for her.
Madame Chouteau was swift to reassure her. “I am given to understand he only arrived yesterday. I think in light of your previous acquaintance that you should welcome him to our city,” she said, giving Olivia a gentle shove
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