Days later, back at Fort St. James, I net and smoke salmon, chop firewood, and for the second time since arriving in New Caledonia, prepare the fort for the impending arrival of winter.
I’ve hardly seen the explorer in the two weeks we’ve been back, and as desperate as I am to go home to England, I haven’t had the opportunity to talk to him about leaving — until he summons me one late August afternoon.
“I wanted to thank you again for saving my life,” says Fraser when I step into his cabin. “La Malice was a dangerous man. You could have been killed stepping in like that. It was a rash and impulsive act, but I’m very glad you did it.”
“I’ve a tendency to act quickly and worry about the consequences later,” I say. “At least I did when I was younger. My sister used to spend a great deal of time getting me out of trouble.”
“It’s your sister I wanted to talk to you about,” he says. I’m taken aback. Although I’ve spoken briefly of my family to Jules Quesnel, nobody except for Louise has heard the full story.
“No need to be surprised,” Fraser reassures me. “Mr. Quesnel mentioned to me the other day that you have a sister in England who couldn’t come with you to Montreal.”
“Aye, that’s true,” I say warily, not knowing what else Fraser may know.
“Quesnel also told me that you want to return to England to see her. Is that correct?”
“Aye, but I wouldn’t want to disappoint Mr. McGillivray. The North West Company has been kind to me, and I’m in yer debt.”
Fraser hands me a thin book wrapped in an oilskin. “This is my account of our journey. I’m sending you to Montreal to deliver it to McGillivray personally. Both the Company and Empire need the information, disappointing though it is. Gagnier will take you to Fort Dunvegan with orders for Luc Lapointe to accompany you to Montreal.”
“Aye, Sir,” I reply, as a huge smile creases my face.
“Feel free to tell Lapointe about our adventure, and Callum Mackay as well when you reach Fort William, but say nothing to anyone else; the world doesn’t need to hear about my failure in the West quite yet.”
Fraser shakes my hand heartily. “I’m going to miss you, Duncan. It would be an honour to travel with you again.”
“Thank ye, Sir,” I say, struggling to control my emotions. “I’ll never forget ye — or this place.”
“I hope not,” Fraser says. “After all, you’ve become part of its history.”
Gagnier and I leave for Fort Dunvegan the next morning. It’s far too late in the year to make it to Montreal before the rivers freeze, but with luck we’ll get as far as Red River. Despite my desire to find Libby, my heart races at the prospect of spending time with the Métis.
We complete the long portage, return to Fort Misery, then make our way back to the Peace River. As we paddle east, my mind fills with plans. I’ll winter with Louise and then in the spring the two of us will leave together for England, find Libby and return to Red River. It’s a good plan, one that occupies my mind constantly as we push east through the mountains.
We travel through the mountains and arrive at Fort Dunvegan ten days later. I’m thrilled to see Luc Lapointe, and despite being tired from the trip, we leave for Red River the very next day. Winter’s coming and speed is of the essence.
The days are still bright and warm, but Lapointe packs his heaviest winter clothes, along with an extra coat for me. “We’ll be grateful for these before our trip is through,” he prophesies. “It’s a little late in the year to be making this voyage, but the Company needs to hear this news. I can’t imagine how Simon feels. He’s put a lot of stock in the river. His reputation is going to take a blow.”
We travel quickly as the days shorten and the weeks pass by. Though morning frost soon lies thick on the ground, and the quiet back-eddies and oxbows of the rivers freeze, the main streams still run free. By late October, Red River is only a few days away.
On the day we arrive, the first snowfall of winter hits hard, and we’re greatly relieved to see the Métis village. “Mes amis! Welcome!” cries the voice of Louis Desjarlais through the midday flurries. “Come and warm yourselves by the fire. It’s too cold to be on the water today!”
The heat from Desjarlais’ hearth sweeps over us as we are escorted into his cabin, but a strange air hangs over the place. “Louis, are ye all right?” I ask as we enter the building.
The large Métis man breaks into tears. “It’s Louise. Last winter she fell sick. At first I thought it was just a cold but she didn’t get better. Then she caught a terrible fever. No matter what we did, she lay in bed, growing weaker and weaker until she died in my arms.”
I feel my legs buckle under me and would have fallen to the floor had Desjarlais not wrapped me tightly in a giant hug.
“Her grave is out on the prairie she loved so much, Duncan. I’ll take you to it if you like.”
Louise rests on the same hill where we’d spotted the buffalo. A small cross sits above her grave, the hard prairie wind pushing the falling snow up against the base of the wooden marker. “Take all the time you need,” says Desjarlais before he and Lapointe walk back to the settlement.
I stand alone in front of the rough wooden cross, struggling to find the words. When I finally speak, I talk to Louise as if she were still alive. “I vowed to see ye again, Louise, but I’m afraid I can’t keep that promise. A dinnae ken if ye can hear me, but I would still like to tell ye about my adventures.”
I take the medicine bag from my neck and talk for more than an hour, recounting everything that’s happened since leaving Red River. When I finish my story, a wave of grief sweeps over me, as powerful as when my parents died.
I fall to my knees and cry, weeping for my mother and father, lost in a Glasgow fire. I cry for Francis and for the young boy I met in Liverpool, both dead in the dark Atlantic.
I cry for the sick children of Kumsheen and I cry for Libby, alone somewhere in England. I cry for Louise as well. I barely knew her but felt a connection to her as deep and powerful as any I’ve experienced in my short life. “I will never forget ye, Louise,” I say, finally getting to my feet. I brush the snow off my legs, and then, without looking back, I walk towards the Métis village.
When I return to the cabin, Desjarlais is waiting for me. He gives me a large tanned buffalo robe, thick with hair. “Louise made this for you before she fell sick,” he says. The robe’s decorated with beads and porcupine quills. Sewn into the skin is a needlework portrait of a man and woman riding on a large black horse against a prairie backdrop. Louise has captured perfectly our one day on the prairies together.
“It’s beautiful,” I tell him.
“A winter-kill buffalo robe will keep you warm on even the coldest nights,” says Desjarlais. “I knew my girl had talent but I’ve never seen the likes of this robe before.”
I love the robe but I know too well the pain of losing a family member, so if I can give Desjarlais something to remember his daughter I’m glad to do it. “Would ye like to have it, Louis?” I ask.
Desjarlais is aghast. “Don’t even suggest it! This is a gift of love; you must keep it.”
“This fell out of the robe,” says Lapointe handing me a thin piece of fabric he’s picked up from the floor.
It’s as if I see a ghost. “The embroidery. My mother made it in Scotland,” I say softly. “I gave it to Louise before I left.”
“And she must have wanted you to have it back,” says Desjarlais.
Our host excuses himself for the night. “What do you think?” asks Lapointe when we’re alone. “Do we stay here for the winter or try for Fort William?”
Without Louise there’s nothing to hold me at Red River anymore. “I just want to go,” I say.
“Bien, I agree. It’s cold but the rivers are still navigable. Besides, the news you carry is too important to sit on here. We’ll say our goodbyes and leave first thing in the morning. Who knows? With that robe, a bit of luck and a prayer or two to Sainte Anne and La Vieille, we just might make it to Fort William before we freeze to death.”