CHAPTER TEN
As though it were as curling as a snake, the great Missouri River twisted and turned through the tall architecture of the rugged and spiked bluffs, hills and buttes. At times, Sharon thought the distant white-gray spikes appeared to be castles, situated as they were so high up above the river. Once, she saw what looked to be a natural bridge between one rugged butte to the next, and she wondered if a human being had ever traversed it.
To Sharon, the scenery along the Missouri River rose up majestic-like, yet it was frightening in its stark beauty. The keelboat upon which she was traveling was perhaps only fifty feet in length and twelve feet wide as it was heaved through the swift currents of the river by a line of men who pulled the boat by means of the largest rope Sharon had ever seen.
These men, who were known as the French-speaking cordelliers, seemed to be forever in good spirits, although Sharon couldn't understand why. They were taxed almost continually as they tugged the boat through the turbulent ebbs and flows of the river. Sometimes they toiled through fast-moving and waist-deep water, sometimes through mud and, at times, were made to haul the boat through sinking quicksand. Yet, through the most arduous conditions and deep mud Sharon had ever witnessed, these men sang. Sharon might have sung along with them from time to time, but their words, being in French, eluded her. And, after the first day upon the river, she'd stopped trying to sing, too.
"How are ye farin', miss?" asked one of the bowmen who was the man in charge of the keelboat, a Mr. Tibbens.
"I am well, thank you," replied Sharon as the man stepped toward her. He, like most of the men in this part of the world, was dressed in buckskin, although his clothing was torn and shabby, being quite greasy and dirty, and his outfit smelled of body odor. Good manners, respect and a feeling of sympathy for the man kept her from mentioning her observations, however. And, although he was most likely doing no more than exchanging small talk with her, Sharon couldn't help comparing his appearance to the clean and almost spotless clothing of the Pikuni.
He said, "Dunna think we has ever had a woman like ye aboard th'Fightin' Mary."
"The fighting Mary?" Sharon inquired.
"'Tis the name of the boat, miss."
"Yes, yes. Of course."
"At least th' weather's been good fer ye," said Mr. Tibbens.
Sharon smiled and briefly glanced away from him. She said, "The weather has been quite favorable indeed, although the wind blows most continuously. I fear I have already lost one hat to this river, sir."
"I be most sorrowful 'bout that, miss."
"Thank you, but I confess it is a small price to pay for the privilege of admiring the buttes which loom so high above us. And, in truth, as frantic as the changes of the river can be, I admit to a feeling of peace that seems to settle over me on occasion."
"Thar be good, miss. Thar be good. Are ye meetin' yer folks at Fort Union, then?"
"I am, indeed, on my way home, Mr. Tibbens. Thank you for asking." Sharon wasn't certain why she didn't speak more of her intentions. Somehow it seemed to be too personal. Instead, she said, "This land is quite beautiful."
"Thar be true, miss. Many of these men"—he nodded toward the cordelliers—"be here 'cause 'tis here an' nowheres else in th' world, a man can guide th' course of his own life. An' once his obligation to th' company be settled, he then be a free man. 'Tis why they sing: soon they be free. Yah, miss, soon they be free."
"Indeed," she responded, "perhaps it is this—freedom—which seems to cleave a place for itself within a person's soul."
"Ye speaks true, miss. Yah, it be true," agreed Mr. Tibbens, bringing his right hand to his hat and tipping it to her. "I best be on me way. If'n ye need anythin', ye need only ta ask."
"Thank you, Mr. Tibbens. Thank you very much." Sharon smiled at the man.
Briefly, Sharon watched the bowman as he paced toward the aft of the small craft.A free man.Was it, then, the freedom of the West that brought these men here? Freedom? Was this the true lure of this country? Imagine, to be in charge of one's own life and be beholden to none?
Hadn't she known a taste of freedom? Hadn't her journey back to Fort McKenzie been an exercise in freedom?
Thinking about it now, Sharon marveled that her solitary journey back to Fort McKenzie from the Pikuni's march to their winter camp had taken no more than a good day's ride; it had also been accomplished without incident. And oh, how delighted she had been to see the keelboat still docked up close to the fort, tied to the port there. With the boat set to leave within a day, it had taken her no trouble to obtain a passage on the boat.
Even she had known the call of freedom, then. At the time, she had felt frightened of what lay ahead of her. But, looking back on it now, she recalled the past week fondly.
She had left her pony and most of her clothing in the care of Amelia's parents, there being no room for either pony nor the rest of her clothing upon the keelboat. After boarding the boat, she recalled again her surprise at finding the quarters she had purchased to be no more than an extraordinarily minuscule room. This room, as well as being such tiny housing, sat in the aft, or rear, section of the boat. There was another room to house the men who steered the boat, but the cordelliers slept on the shoreline of the river at night.
Still, though the accommodations were closet-like, there was a tiny round window on the outermost wall of the room. However, since it wasn't enough to let light in, Sharon often found herself standing outside the tight quarters—standing, because there was nowhere to sit on the boat except the outermost edge of the deck. And, there, situated outside her room, she would watch the scenery go by while listening to the ever-present songs of the French cordelliers.
Sadly, even the admiration she felt for this land could not keep her tears at bay. And, sometimes she felt compelled to pretend her tearing eyes were due to the wind and not the grief in her heart.
The keelboat, however, did not sail at night, and so the craft was brought ashore each evening before the sun set in the west, allowing enough light so they could see in order to prepare the evening meal. Yet, as kind as the men navigating the boat were to her, Sharon stayed within her tiny room at this time of day, only briefly joining the men at suppertime.
She never lingered on the shore, either. After the first of their evening meals, Sharon had noticed the cordelliers' jovial conversations ceased whenever she approached, causing her to introvert. Thus, she remained in this, the tiniest of cabins, for the entirety of the night.
Some nights, however, she left her room to step out onto the deck, where she gazed upward at the great multitude of stars overhead. Oddly, they reminded her of Strikes Fast and their journey over the prairie several weeks ago after he had rescued her from the Crow magician. Was it a matter of only several weeks ago?
