Read Online Louisiana History Collection - Part 1 by Jennifer Blake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer Blake
Tags: Romance
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more lengthwise before covering the frame thus made with cloth.
The enclosures were not large, being slightly wider than a man’s shoulders and only high enough for one to creep into them. Their purpose was to offer some protection from the weather, but most of all to prevent sleepers from being eaten alive by mosquitoes. Four of them had been erected near the fire, with a fifth, this one wider at the base than the others, a small distance away. It took no great intelligence to realize that the last was meant for her to share with Reynaud Chavalier.
Elise tried to avoid looking at that shelter set apart. It seemed to her overactive imagination that the others did the same. So scrupulous were they in looking away that their very tact drew attention to it. She felt that they were each thinking of what must take place in it when night drew in, some with pity, some with anger, and some with lascivious interest. The quick glances they divided between the half-breed and herself made that much plain.
Her appetite deserted her and she finally scraped away the food from her bowl into the fire. She thought to while away a little more time before she had to retire for the night by cleaning the iron pot, bowls, and spoons, but Reynaud took them from her. With Henri, he went to the river’s edge where he scrubbed the pot with sand and sent the boy back with it filled with water to be heated over the fire. He washed the bowls and spoons, too, rinsing them well. Returning to the fire, he helped Elise dry them and put them away, along with the extra cakes she had made for their breakfast.
Darkness had fallen while they worked. St. Amant had crawled into his shelter, as had Henri and Madame Doucet. Pascal was sitting, puffing on a narrow clay pipe much like the calumets, or peace pipes, of the Indians and staring into the fire. Reynaud closed and strapped the pack with the food in it, then got to his feet, moving to hang it on a tree limb out of reach of nocturnal animals that might be attracted by the smell. He stood for a long moment with his dark gray gaze resting on Elise, then moved away once more, out of the circle of firelight, in the direction of the river.
The pot of water on the fire still simmered. Elise stared at it, feeling the itch of dried perspiration on her skin and the film of bear grease and woodsmoke. She picked up the tail of her habit and folded it into a protective holder against the heat of the pot’s bail, then lifted the water, carrying it with her in the direction of the shelter that had been set apart from the others.
Unlike her fellow travelers, she refused to think of what would shortly happen inside the enclosure. Insofar as it was possible, she readied herself for bed exactly as she would have if she had been in the bedchamber of her home that lay smouldering somewhere across the river. Keeping the bulk of the cloth-covered poles between herself and the fire, she removed her habit and petticoat, then, after a moment of hesitation, stripped off her shift. She dipped the shift into the hot water, using it as a bathing cloth, and held it to the soreness of her muscles. When she was done, she rinsed it and hung it to dry across the top of the shelter. Then calmly, without stopping to reason why, she pulled her petticoat and habit back on, ducked into the shelter, and lay down as far to one side of the spread bed furs as she could get.
For some time she lay stiffly, with every muscle taut. By degrees she relaxed as the minutes ticked past. Perhaps this was her shelter alone, perhaps with his Indian blood Reynaud preferred to sleep in the open? Could it be that he had changed his mind in the face of her obvious reluctance? Was it possible for him to be that considerate? She lay for a time listening to the night stillness. There was a rustling sound as a small animal, a raccoon or an opossum, investigated the camp and the quiet clatter of beech leaves still clinging to the tree that spread its limbs above her
The enclosures were not large, being slightly wider than a man’s shoulders and only high enough for one to creep into them. Their purpose was to offer some protection from the weather, but most of all to prevent sleepers from being eaten alive by mosquitoes. Four of them had been erected near the fire, with a fifth, this one wider at the base than the others, a small distance away. It took no great intelligence to realize that the last was meant for her to share with Reynaud Chavalier.
Elise tried to avoid looking at that shelter set apart. It seemed to her overactive imagination that the others did the same. So scrupulous were they in looking away that their very tact drew attention to it. She felt that they were each thinking of what must take place in it when night drew in, some with pity, some with anger, and some with lascivious interest. The quick glances they divided between the half-breed and herself made that much plain.
Her appetite deserted her and she finally scraped away the food from her bowl into the fire. She thought to while away a little more time before she had to retire for the night by cleaning the iron pot, bowls, and spoons, but Reynaud took them from her. With Henri, he went to the river’s edge where he scrubbed the pot with sand and sent the boy back with it filled with water to be heated over the fire. He washed the bowls and spoons, too, rinsing them well. Returning to the fire, he helped Elise dry them and put them away, along with the extra cakes she had made for their breakfast.
Darkness had fallen while they worked. St. Amant had crawled into his shelter, as had Henri and Madame Doucet. Pascal was sitting, puffing on a narrow clay pipe much like the calumets, or peace pipes, of the Indians and staring into the fire. Reynaud closed and strapped the pack with the food in it, then got to his feet, moving to hang it on a tree limb out of reach of nocturnal animals that might be attracted by the smell. He stood for a long moment with his dark gray gaze resting on Elise, then moved away once more, out of the circle of firelight, in the direction of the river.
The pot of water on the fire still simmered. Elise stared at it, feeling the itch of dried perspiration on her skin and the film of bear grease and woodsmoke. She picked up the tail of her habit and folded it into a protective holder against the heat of the pot’s bail, then lifted the water, carrying it with her in the direction of the shelter that had been set apart from the others.
Unlike her fellow travelers, she refused to think of what would shortly happen inside the enclosure. Insofar as it was possible, she readied herself for bed exactly as she would have if she had been in the bedchamber of her home that lay smouldering somewhere across the river. Keeping the bulk of the cloth-covered poles between herself and the fire, she removed her habit and petticoat, then, after a moment of hesitation, stripped off her shift. She dipped the shift into the hot water, using it as a bathing cloth, and held it to the soreness of her muscles. When she was done, she rinsed it and hung it to dry across the top of the shelter. Then calmly, without stopping to reason why, she pulled her petticoat and habit back on, ducked into the shelter, and lay down as far to one side of the spread bed furs as she could get.
For some time she lay stiffly, with every muscle taut. By degrees she relaxed as the minutes ticked past. Perhaps this was her shelter alone, perhaps with his Indian blood Reynaud preferred to sleep in the open? Could it be that he had changed his mind in the face of her obvious reluctance? Was it possible for him to be that considerate? She lay for a time listening to the night stillness. There was a rustling sound as a small animal, a raccoon or an opossum, investigated the camp and the quiet clatter of beech leaves still clinging to the tree that spread its limbs above her
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