Lewis, Clark, & Sacagawea: A Love Triangle in the Louisiana Territory

Chapter II: Camp Dubois and the Journey up the Missouri River

            "Not anymore."

            "You were at first?" I cut in, before Lewis could answer.

            "Yes. You dragged me from my home, remember?"

            I gave her a small smile. "Something tells me you didn't see Charbonneau's house as 'home'."

            She shook her head. "No. You're right. I didn't."

            "The men here are good men." Lewis told her. "You have nothing to fear from them."

            "But if one of them touches you, at all..." I said, "You tell us, and we'll flog him until he faints."

            Sacagawea nodded, no expression on her face.  There were a few minutes of awkward silence as the boat floated down river.

            "Have you met Sam?" Lewis asked eventually. He reached over and patted the giant mastiff's black head. The dog turned to look at him, and licked his master's hand.

            "Yes." Sacagawea said quietly. "He almost knocked me over when we first got in the boat."

            "He can't help it." Lewis said, defending his beloved pet. "He's weighs the same as a man."

            "And has the brain of a toddler." I added. Lewis frowned at me.

            "Don't insult my dog." Lewis snapped, but he smiled when he said it.

            I looked at Sacagawea. "The damn dog drools like a toddler as well."

            "This dog," Lewis cut in, "is smarter and a better hunter then Clark will ever be. That's why Clark keeps insulting the poor thing, because he’s jealous."

            "Jealous?" I asked, feigning shock. "At that dog? The only thing I'm jealous about is how much he gets fed for doing barely any work." As if to prove my point, Sam let out a large sigh and sunk down to his belly to sleep. Sacagawea still made no effort to smile.

            I wanted her to smile, badly. I felt horrible about dragging her along on this trip, especially if she was going to act like a miserable block of stone the whole journey. And, although I tried to deny it, something inside of me wanted to see her pretty face light up with happiness and laughter. After all, laughter improved a woman's looks better than anything else, and Sacagawea was gorgeous already. A smile would make her unbelievable.

            When Sacagawea had first entered Charbonneau's home, I had been shocked beyond belief. She was the most attractive woman I'd seen, of that I was certain. After my years of fighting in wars against Indians, I'd seen my fair share of Indian women. Most of them were leathery from spending all their time outdoors in the sun, and they tended to be sinewy and over muscled, since the Indians required their women to work as much as their men. But Sacagawea was none of that. Her skin was smooth, and seemed to glow from somewhere deep inside of her. The golden amber shade of her skin was an intense contrast to the creamy whiteness desired by American women. She was muscled, but in a way that made her look lean and strong, and not manly. She didn't look weak; she looked like she could take care of herself.

            Guiltily, I remembered Juliet, my own newlywed wife back in Virginia. She was the opposite of Sacagawea. Although also lovely, she had alabaster skin and hair the color of new wheat. She was soft and delicate, like a kitten, and wore dresses made of satin and lace. We weren't close emotionally, however. We'd been married less than a year, and it was more for social and familial reasons than anything else. I'd only spent two nights with her so far. I can’t say those two nights were even enjoyable, since the first was our wedding night and she spent it sobbing, and during the second she’d lain still and stiff, as though the whole experience was uncomfortable for her.