One and a half months later
Micara awoke with the dawn light. May first. The morning held no cheer. Though the sun shone through the windows, and birds chirped merrily, nothing would make this day a happy one. She was going away. Having to trek across kilometers of forest and face dangers of all sorts. No, this day would not be a joyful one.
Over the past month, Cara had unsucsessfully pleaded, argued, and reasoned in hopes of her father letting her stay by herself at home. She had used her saftey as a bargaining chip, and had threatened, quite childishly, to run away. Alas, her father had been firm, never once straying from the original plan, keeping his deal with the coeur de bois from a month ago that he would take Micara to Dryden on his trip back from selling furs. Jaques had been immune to the weeping and anger and Micara had been forced, finally, to accept defeat and reality of leaving.
So, she had reluctantly prepared for her trip, with the help of practical Bernetta. Her imported dresses of silks and lace had to be left inside the wardrobe and new things were ordered. Leather walking shoes replaced satin slippers, while skirts and blouses of cotton, linen, and wool had taken the place of dainty finery. Bernetta had skillfully packed the small trunk Micara was allowed to take with all sorts of clothing, from thin cotton to heavy wool saying,"There's bound to be some rain," and, "The nights still hold a chill." After the essential packing, Micara had still managed to squeeze in her own 'necessities', her favourite book, her silver hair brush, and a miniature portrait of her mother.
Micara sighed as she rose from bed. She quickly dressed in a drab grey skirt and white shirtwaist.
"I feel like a school marm," she muttered to herself as she descended the stairs from her room. When she reached the hallway, she noticed her trunk missing from its space beside the door. Walking towards the dining room, she almost collided with Jaques as he came from the library.
"You have just enough time to eat breakfast," he said, "We're to meet the courier at the dock in a half hour's time."
"I have no desire to eat," Micara replied coldly.
Jaques sighed, "Cara, don't behave this way."
Micara ignored him as she walked to the door. "Shall we be off?" she asked.
With an even louder sigh, Jaques followed her to the door and snagged his tri-cornered hat as he walked out of the house.
The carriage ride to the small river dock was a silent one. As they pulled to a halt, Micara spied the Reginald coach near the river. Though Micara had broken it off with Phineas, he had come to see her off.
She stepped out of the carriage and without waiting for Jaques, walked towards the dock where two canoes were tied. Two men dressed in Coeur de bois deer skins were standing at the end of the dock. With quick strides, Micara reached them. She spoke down to them and she inquired, "Have my things arrived?"
One of the men rolled his eyes at her haughty tone. He then bowed dramatically and said in a mocking Scottish brogue, "Aye your Ladyship, that they have."
Micara was taken aback by this kind of treatment and became indignant at his remark. "You, Sir, are no gentleman!" she exclaimed.
His stormy grey eyes flashed and his lips pulled into a roguish smile that exposed even white teeth as he said, "Never claimed to be one."
Micara didn't know how to respond to that. Thankfully, the other man stepped up and took over the conversation. "My apologies Ma'am, he meant nothing by it. My name is Will Tuckett, and this is Calen Donelly."
Will looked quite young, he had bright green eyes, a tanned, clean shaven face, dark auburn hair, a nice smile, a well shaped nose and a small cleft in his chin.
"Thank you Mr. Tuckett, I will think nothing of it this time," Micara said graciously.
Hearing a scoff, she looked back to the other man. He was standing with his arms folded across his chest, his biceps straining a little at the sleeves. In his face was unveiled annoyance. In fact, every line of his body showed it, from his slacked hip to his crossed arms.
"So very kind of you," he said in the same tone as before.
Micara huffed and flounced back to the carriage. She heard the insolent Scot chuckle behind her. Phineas had come to stand beside the carriage with Jaques, and as Micara reached them, he held out his hand to her. She took it and smiled as he said, "Micara, may God speed your journey and let boredom greet you at the other side to prompt your swift return."
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "Until we meet again," he said softly.
Micara turned to Jaques and he enveloped her in a hug. When he released her, he said, "May your journey be swift, dangers few, and may God be with you every step of the way."
Tears filled Micara's eyes as she realized this would be the last time she would see her papa for almost a year. "And may God grant you safe passage to France," she sniffled.
"I'll remember you in my prayers, I love you daughter."
She squeezed his hand, "I love you too Papa."
He straightened up, let his breath out and disengaged his hand. "You had better be going, no daughter of mine will keep a man waiting on her." He smiled, "Be strong, be wise, be happy..."
She smiled also as she finished his sentence, "Life goes on." It was something she had heard many times over the years. After one more hug from her father, and a glance at Phineas, she hurried down the dock. Will Tuckett assisted her into one of the long canoes. Too her dismay, he then went to the other one and the Scot climbed in behind her. They both pushed soundlessly into the middle of the river.
The river curved softly to the left, so Cara needed only to look slightly over her shoulder to see the dock. As they began to drift away, she leaned to the side to see better. The canoe tipped, bringing a warning from the Scotsman paddling in the middle of the boat
"Lass," he said sternly, "watch yerself or you'll be a swimmin' to yer port instead o' riding."
She looked disdainfully back at him and lifted her chin haughtily. "I think not," she said, "For I cannot swim."
Without missing a beat, though he was surprised to meet someone who couldn't swim and would still travel via river, he replied, "Then you'll be drowning, for I'll not be saving ye."
It was a lie, but it had the effect he wanted. She froze with one hand on either side of the boat, kneeling with her back stiff and her feet sticking out behind her. Calen grinned as he heard her breathing go shallow.
After 10 minutes, Calen took pity on her, "Ye can relax, the boat won't be tippin' any time soon," he said.
Micara seemed not to hear him. he repeated his words.
After a moment she said, "Sir, I heard you the first time, but I regret to tell you that I have lost the feeling in my lower limbs."
Calen chuckled. "Yer feet snoozin' eh?"
Cara blushed at they mention of her anatomy and nodded stiffly.
He chuckled again, "Only thing ta do is ta move 'em."
She replied in a panicky voice, "But you said it I..."
He cut her off, "I meant leanin' over the side. Now, ease yerself down and sit on yer legs."
She lowered herself down gingerly. "Relax," Calen reminded her. Her death grip on the sides of the canoe loosened. "Now, turn 'round and lean on the pile of furs in the front." She froze again and asked fearfully, "How do I..."
"Slowly."
Just as he said, she moved slowly and awkwardly but managed to rest herself against the furs and stretch her legs out, facing Calen.
Calen halfway sat on the seat and halfway knelt on his right knee, bracing himself on his left leg. He paddled with one oar, alternating it from side to side, but mostly let the current do the work. His eyes skimmed the water ahead of them, looking for rocks. His almost shoulder length black hair was pulled back and contained by a strip of raw hide, how ever, a few shorter locks in the front escaped and lay on his forehead and around his face.
He was not what drew her eye though, it was what was behind him. The knowledge that she was leaving took hold of her and she fought back tears.
Calen saw this and was prepared to remedy it. He knew better than anyone that anger was the cure for tears, at least momentarily.
"So," he inquired brashfully, "The tall gent in the big coat, is he yer man?"
She frowned. "No he is not."
He nodded knowingly, "Thought not."
She sputtered. "Why?" she demanded.
He smiled infuriatingly, "His farewell."
Micara sat bolt upright, causing the canoe to sway. She tightened her grip on the canoe's sides and looked at them fearfully, but still managed to say angrily, "Phineas' good bye was perfectly proper!"
Calen grinned his rogue's grin and said, "T'was that that gave it away. No man'd send his woman across the country with a cold good bye like that, especially not when she was being escorted by such a handsome man."
Micara flushed angrily. "And what would you know about any of that?!"
"Plenty," he informed her, "I've done a fair share of courtin' meself. If t'was me, I'd o' caughtcha up and kissed ye soundly, none of the rules would stop me."
"You, Sir, are no gentleman!"
He shrugged, "Said it afore, never claimed to be," he said, still paddling calmly, "And if ye'r comparing me to the fellow back yonder, I take it as a compliment."
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A/N
Do like Calen? Why? Why not?
Oh, and Coeur de bois is another name for the first trappers/traders/explorers that dealt with the Hudson's Bay and North West Trading Companies for furs.
Enjoy