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But somehow it just came out. “Colonel Josiah Snelling,” she blurted. “He’s my father.”
She frowned and cocked her head when she saw a sudden sour look come across the captain’s face. He turned and walked away without another word.
“Why did he behave so strangely?” she asked, looking confusedly at Echohawk. “Perhaps he doesn’t like my father.”
“Do not let one man’s attitude take away your excitement today,” Echohawk said, placing an arm around her waist. “It is your day. Yours and your father’s.”
Mariah inhaled a shaky breath, Echohawk’s comforting words already causing her to forget the strange behavior of the riverboat captain. She was looking dreamily into the distance, ready to count out the moments until she could embrace her true father, until she could proudly present herself as his daughter.
Chapter 26
She is most fair, and thereunto,
Her life doth rightly harmonize.
—Lowell
After leaving the riverboat, Echohawk held on to Mariah’s elbow as they left the Mississippi behind and climbed the riverbank toward the frontier town of Saint Louis. The village they entered was filled with pretty whitewashed houses and cultivated gardens, a surprisingly civilized place considering its location on the edge of the frontier.
The sun warmed the snow, melting it, making their footing more secure as they traveled down the cobblestone main road that paralleled the river. Mariah was absorbing everything as they passed all kinds of different people—white, Indian and black.
She had never seen so many people at once or such lovely homes. Some were built of stone, while others were made of logs set upright in the ground, but all seemed sturdy and well cared for.
In one sweep of the eye Mariah saw several saloons, a millinery shop, two hotels, and various merchant shops. Her nose took her to stand at the window of a bake shop, emanating from it a rich aroma of cinnamon, apples, molasses, yeast, and the smoke of hickory and oak.
She looked anxiously up at Echohawk, who was tense and quiet beside her. Although she had never been to such a large town herself, she knew that it had to be an even stranger experience for Echohawk. She had seen how he had looked so warily at the men who sported large firearms at their hips, those men having stared just as warily back at him as he held his rifle tightly within one of his powerful hands.
She saw how Echohawk looked with wondering eyes at the dark-skinned men and women hustling by, apparently having never seen black people before. She had tried to explain that most were more than likely slaves, perhaps in town gathering up supplies for their masters, but he could not fathom the idea of one man owning another.
She saw how Echohawk flinched as he walked in the shadows of the taller buildings, having never seen anything as high, except for the walls at Fort Snelling and the high bluffs in the Minnesota wilderness.
“Echohawk, I have enough coins not only for lodging and a new dress and bonnet but also for a sweet bread,” Mariah said, trying to draw him into conversation. He had been so subdued, so quiet, since their arrival in Saint Louis. She wanted him to relax and enjoy it, the same as she. Before the end of the day she would even have cause to celebr
ate. She was going to claim her birthright!
“Sweet bread?” Echohawk said, forking an eyebrow. “What is a sweet bread?”
Mariah took his hand and began leading him toward the door of the bake shop. “It is something quite wonderful and delicious,” she said, giggling. “Come on. Share with me.”
Echohawk was hesitant, then went inside with her, his nostrils flaring with the pleasant aromas wafting through the air. He watched silently as Mariah transacted the business of acquiring what she called sweet bread. He saw her shake several coins from her buckskin pouch and hand them to the proprietor, dressed in white, then watched as she smiled broadly as she was handed something in a small sack.
“It smells and looks delicious,” Mariah said, leaving the bake shop with Echohawk. “Afer we settle down in a hotel, we shall have ourselves a private feast. I have had a sweet bread only once, and that was at the Snellings’ residence. The icing! It just melts in one’s mouth!”
They walked on, once again in silence, taking in everything. There were men in frock coats and vests, wearing fine leather boots. On their arms paraded ladies in silk gowns, feathered bonnets and furs. For the most part, the citizens of Saint Louis ignored them, but several ragged children stared rudely, curious to see a Chippewa walking side by side with a white woman dressed in buckskin.
Along the thoroughfare was a raised wooden sidewalk which they climbed onto when they passed several pigs rooting through garbage in the roadway. There was a confusion of carriages and horses trying to navigate the street as well, making it dangerous for pedestrians.
But something else drew Mariah’s keen attention, making her wonder how she could have forgotten this special season of the year.
Christmas!
With all of the recent traumatic experiences, she had forgotten about Christmas!
They were now walking in a part of the frontier town where the shopping was enhanced by a town-wide effort at seasonal decorating. Beribboned greens wreathed and outlined the shops and buildings. Trees with shining ornaments graced each window.
The powerful perfume of the pine boughs reminded Mariah of the Christmases that she had shared with her mother before she had passed away. Without the aid of her father, Mariah and her mother had gone into the forest and had chosen the largest tree they could drag back to the house. They decorated it together, giggling and singing.
Once done, its boughs were heavy with myriad precious things. Amid many tapered candles had been hung intricate paper cutouts, cookies, pieces of taffy, tiny toys, gilded ornaments, strings of popcorn and cranberries, ribbon bows, and dried flowers.
