Will's canoe was the larger of the two, so they emptied the supplies and furs from Calen's canoe into it and stowed Calen's canoe on the shore. Calen positioned himself at the bow of Will's canoe and Will took the stern. Together they gripped it and lifted it onto their shoulders. Micara stood in astonishment as they began to march forward.
"Wait," she cried as she followed after them, "What are you doing? Where are you going?"
She followed them into the forest. They didn't wait for her, and though their pace was slow, Micara, having to contend with heavy skirts and ruined boots, found it hard to keep up. She struggled on after them though, the tree roots made her stumble and the brambles and branches grabbed at her full skirt and hair. The sun beat down even through the trees and there were bugs everywhere.
They had been walking for two hours before Will voiced the question Micara had been dying to ask. "How much longer, Calen?"
Calen grunted, shifting the canoe's position on his shoulder, before answering, "Remember the clearing where the regular crossing begins? We'll be there in no more than a few minute's time."
Cara rejoiced silently, willing her sore feet to keep on with their trudging.
Soon the woods gave way to an empty space. In her eagerness to leave the confining trees, Cara stumbled on a root, barely catching herself from landing flat on her face. The clearing was quite a disappointing sight. It was smaller than the one they had stayed at the first night, and not nearly as pretty. There were signs of its frequent use too. A circle of stones was already laid and a crudely made shelter of branches had been constructed. The amount of grass was almost non-existent, for the smooth bare rock that lined the river here had crept its way up the bank and almost into the clearing. Cara's spirits drooped as she took in the sight.
Calen and Will felt the opposite. They lowered their burden gratefully, Will stating how glad he was to reach the clearing. They both sat on the ground, leaning against the canoe and stretching their legs out in front of them. While they rested, Micara inspected the dismal little shelter. It was an eyesore to behold, but it seemed sturdy enough. It was about as tall as the tent, with scarcely enough room to accommodate one person. Some of the branches on the roof looked brittle and in need of replacing, but it would do for tonight.
When she went back to the men, they were standing, stretching their muscles. Will reached for his musket from inside the canoe. "I'll be back this evening," he told Calen, "Do not shoot me when you hear me crashing through the trees."
"If ye remember to use yer voice, I'll remember not to use my musket," Calen retorted.
Will chuckled, "I'll do that, and tonight I'll be hungrier than a bear from carrying your canoe across the country, so I expect some fresh game to be roasting when I return."
Calen laughed and Will went back into the woods, leaving Micara alone with Calen. Micara was confused, and the thought of being alone with the rude Scotsman made her a bit panicked.
"Where is Will going?" She inquired nervously.
Calen looked at her as if she were a child and she felt embarrassed by the scared tone of her question. "He's going to fetch the other canoe."
Micara tried to collect herself, realizing her foolishness of her fear. Suddenly she felt overwhelmed by the exhausting day. She felt gritty and dirty from head to her throbbing feet. She sat down by the canoe and leaned her back against it, closing her eyes against the headache that was forming at her temples. It had been a long day.
Calen watched Micara as she sat and closed her eyes. The weariness was plain on her face. He felt a pang of guilt. He had pushed them to a pace that he and Will as seasoned coeur de bois had been accustomed to. He had wanted to see if he could wear her out, if he could provoke her. The guilt he felt compounded as he tried to put himself in her place. It wasn't her fault that she was spoiled, and he had been blaming their progress on her. They were traveling more slowly than if it had been just him and Will and Calen was not enjoying the change.
Already on this trip he had cursed himself multiple times for making the deal with Micara's father when he had come to the docks searching for a courier. At the time, Calen had just finished a trading trip and had not received nearly what he had expected for the furs. When Jaques had offered the job with half of the payment up front, Calen had jumped for it. For the next month he would trap and at its end he would sell his furs in Quebec and pick up Jaques' daughter on the way back home. He had done his trapping, but on the way to Quebec, he had encountered his coeur de bois friend, Christian James, who relayed the low price to him. Calen had saved himself the extra distance, instead going to Dryden still loaded with pelts. He and Will had purchased their badly needed supplies with the other half of Jaques' payment, planning to sell their furs in Montréal or Kingston en route to Trenton, where the prices were rumoured to be higher due to the recent influx of Loyalist settlers taking refuge from the American colonies. Jaques' money had been needed, but there had been times that Calen wondered if it was worth the trouble Micara had caused and would still cause.
"Mr. Donelly?" Micara interrupted his thoughts, "Might there be a water skin that I may drink from?"
Calen gestured to the far end of Will's canoe, "Aye, it be there."
He watched as she rose from her sitting position and hobbled painfully to it. She took a drink and her nose wrinkled. "It is warm."
Calen rolled his eyes at her, "Tis usually what happens when water sits in the sun," he stated obviously, "Feel free to go to the river and refill it though, if ye see the need."
A frown came over her face, but she didn't reply. It was quite obvious she'd never had to do a day of work in her life, and it made Calen angry that she had everything and was ungrateful for it. He and his family had had to work every day of their lives, and still they often struggled to get by. They had had to carve out a life in the wilderness with all of the challenges that they could possibly face, while she had been given everything she could ever want and still longed for more.
Calen indulged in his resentment for her, letting it chase away the guilt he felt. He would give her a taste of doing for herself.
He went to the canoe and brought out his musket. He strode to the edge of the clearing. Cara's alarmed voice sounded behind him. "What are you doing?"
Calen answered gruffly, "I'm going to go hunt. I'll set camp when I return. I trust ye will not do anything foolish to get yerself killed in that time, will ye?"
He left before she could speak, but he did hear an indignant huff as he entered the trees.
Cara watched him go, a twist of emotions doing battle inside her. On one hand, she felt insecure and scared at being alone in the woods. On the other hand, she felt angry and resentful of both her father and the arrogant Mr. Donelly. It was both of their faults that she was stuck out here in the first place. But over all, she felt determined. Determined to prove them wrong and show them that she was not what either of them thought her to be. Her father thought her childish and helpless and unable to do for herself, well, perhaps she was, but only because she had been raised to be. What did Papa think they taught in those finishing schools? She had learned the fainting lady act and played it well, but now it would be different. She was intelligent and she could learn to handle anything that the irritable Scotsman could throw at her.
Her riled gaze landed upon the crude lean-to shelter that she would be sleeping in tonight. This would be her first act of independence. Mr. Donelly believed her to be spoiled, foolish, and incompetent. She may be spoiled, but she would prove him wrong on the other two accounts, something she doubted happened to him often. She would enjoy taking him down a notch.
She went to the shelter and inspected it more closely, deciding what she would have to do to make it habitable for the night. Inspiration hit when she remembered the canvas tent. She may not know how to pitch a tent, but she did know how to lay a table, and draping the canvas over the shelter's wooden frame could not be much different than placing a table cloth.
She went to the canoe and rummaged around in it until she found the tent roll. It was heavier than she expected, but she did not let it deter her. She hauled it to the shelter and untied the rawhide strings, placing them in a place where she would not forget them. She unrolled the tent and removed the two sticks that Will had used to prop it up. The canvas was bulky and awkward, and to her dismay, nothing like a tablecloth.
With great difficulty she lifted it onto the wooden frame of the shelter. It took a lot of readjusting and maneuvering as she pulled at it, but eventually she got it to drape fully across the entrance.
With a sense of satisfaction, she admired her handiwork. Having accomplished her first task so successfully, she felt eager to take on another. She scanned the clearing, taking in what needed to be done to set camp. She eyed the fire pit. She knew she had no hopes of kindling a flame, but she could prepare for one.
She marched into the trees, pulling at the lower branches to snap the off. It was proving more difficult than she had thought, for most of the branches were reluctant to leave their trees. Eventually she gathered enough for a decent fire.
She carried the wood back to the fire pit and dropped it inside. She brushed her hands together to remove the dirt, succeeding only to spread it around the sticky patches that had appeared on her hands.
She was thirsty again, but she had already emptied the water skin. She decided to take Mr. Donelly's suggestion from earlier to visit the river and refill it. she would also take the opportunity to wash the stubborn sticky substance from her hands.
She retrieved the water skin from the canoe and, before venturing to the shore, removed her boots, taking no chance that they would become soaked again. The sight of her feet surprised and disturbed her. They were painful, but she had thought nothing of them until now. They were blistered in several places and raw in others. A couple of places had actually begun to bleed and had stained the inside of her boots. She had never experienced this kind of pain before, and she was thankful that her tasks had kept her mind occupied elsewhere until now.
She wanted to sit and cry. In fact, tears were already trying to break loose. She was tempted to give in to them, and would have, except for one thing, Calen. She could picture his face, mocking and derisive, knowing she was helpless and dependant on him. She would show him otherwise.
She cleared her eyes of the unshed tears, lifted the water skin, and picked her way down to smooth rock shore towards the water. She was stunned by what she saw. The difference between the water here and how it had been upriver was astounding. The water was darker now, and rushed violently on its course, hitting against the rocks and splitting into foamy white spray. Only a little bit down river, the rapids were even worse. Cara now understood the worry she had seen in both of the coeur de bois' faces. This was the reason they had walked, not taking the risk of navigating the rapids. It had been the wisest choice, and even though her feet were in immense pain, she was glad they had walked the distance.
She crept carefully to the water's edge, placing her footsteps cautiously. She knelt down and set the water skin beside her, intent on washing her hands first. She scrubbed them vigorously, yet even after minutes, some of the stickiness remained. She gave up with a frustrated sigh before plunging the water skin into the river. When it was filled, she carried it back to camp, hanging it from a tree as she had seen Will do before. She smiled to herself, knowing that her efforts would no doubt wipe the arrogant smirk off of the Scotsman's face. She stepped back to survey her work.
From behind her in the trees, a twig snapped. She froze. This was no doubt some hungry wild creature intent on devouring her. She was terrified, but turned slowly to face it, hoping she was larger than it and could scare it away.
Before she could turn all the way around, a sound rang out that made her wish it had been some wild creature instead of what she now faced.
Calen entered the clearing, his laugh booming through the forest. He had been successful on his hunt, for Micara could see the bloodied carcasses of two squirrels and a pheasant hanging from his belt near his hatchet. Cara cringed at the mocking tone of his raucous laughter.
"What have ye done to the tent?" He gasped between guffaws.
Micara ground her teeth. This man was insufferable! "For your information, Sir, I am attempting to set camp, something that you have neglected to do."
Calen leaned on his musket to brace himself against his outbursts. His face was red and it looked like he was having trouble breathing.
Micara growled through her teeth. "You sir are a brute."
She turned on her heel, making not to lift her skirt high enough that Calen might glimpse her unshod feet. When she reached the shelter, she soon realized that perhaps her efforts left something to be desired. She fumbled with the entrance, almost tripping herself on her discarded boots when she finally managed to lift the canvas high enough to enter. Her clumsiness only brought more laughter from Calen. Only when the canvas had closed behind her, did Calen quiet himself somewhat.
Calen looked around the camp, her Highness' handiwork evident all over the place. Several of the canoe's contents lay scattered around it on the ground, a bundle of green branches were piled inside the fire pit, the water skin was leaking from its mouth from a branch, and the tent draped haphazardly over the crude shelter's frame. He couldn't help but laugh at the outcome. She had failed miserably, her efforts only making more work for him. He went about redoing the tasks Micara had tried to help with, snickering when his glance would land on the canvas covered lean-to.
When the camp had been put back in order, Calen sat at the fire, and plucked and skinned his kills that would be their supper. He disposed of the entrails far outside of camp.
He passed Micara's shelter on the way back, and happened to glance down.
The burnt leather of Micara's boots caught his eye. The smile on his face was quickly wiped off his face when he noticed a smear of blood on the inside. He inspected the boots closely, his stomach sinking at what he saw. The amount of blood concerned him, her feet were even worse off than he had suspected. Not only would she have trouble continuing their portage tomorrow, but open sores had the potential to worsen quickly. He was responsible for Micara's well-fare and it would be on his head if anything happened to her.
He knew what he had to do, no matter how it grated on him to wait on her like the lowly servant she thought him to be. It would hurt his pride, but he would do what he knew he had to.
Micara heard Calen scuffling outside the lean-to, and tensed for whatever remark he was about to throw at her. She knew what he thought about what she had tried to do, and it riled her that all of her hard work had done nothing to improve his opinion of her. When Calen left the lean-to without saying a word, she was relieved. She snuck a glance outside and ventured from the shelter when she didn't see him outside. She didn't stay long, only gathering a few items from her trunk and her bedroll before dashing back.
She took the opportunity of privacy to try and clean up as best she could under the circumstances.
A few minutes later, Calen's footsteps sounded outside the shelter again. She tensed again. He cleared his throat, but did not speak. After a few moments, he left, again without saying a word.
Micara's curiosity got the better of her, so she went to take a look outside. To her astonishment, sitting on the ground in front of the lean-to was a pan of steaming water and a pair of mid-calf soft leather moccasins.
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A/N
So, this chapter is FINALLY up! It has taken me forever to quell the writer's block I've been having, along with other issues that seemed determined to keep me from writing, but I finally finished this chapter that I've had half written for two weeks!! That is accomplishment.
Anyone reading this, please make yourself known, my other stories are so much easier to write because people have shown an interest in them and inspired me to write. No one has done that with this one, and I would be grateful if you commented and at least told me what you thought about it, any kind of feed back helps.
Well, thanks for reading.
Enjoy.