Captive Legacy

Prologue

Winter, 1811, Fort George, Oregon Territory

Why can’t we go in, Mama?

A bitter, cold wind tugged at eleven-year-old Alexander Durban’s thin body. He clutched his five-year-old brother’s hand tightly as they waited anxiously on the porch of the Big House beside their mother, Elaine.

No, Zander. We dare not! his mother whispered.

Fat drops of rain splattered on Zander’s threadbare shirt as Elaine rocked the crying babe in her arms. The baby wailed louder.

A heavy trapper almost tripped over Zander as he filed past the small family and on into the factor’s house. A woman, her Indian-black hair and her white skin showing her mixed-blood heritage as surely as did the beaded, blue flannel gown she wore, laughed and flirted proudly with her escort, a burly mountain man clothed in a leather shirt and trousers.

Zander stared at the two. He knew the woman. She was his mama’s favorite cousin. But why did she look away as she passed by them? And why did Mama turn away? What was wrong?

Zander frowned as the traders and clerks of the fort, North West Company trappers, and Hudson’s Bay Company trappers, strolled past him and through the open door and into the light and music. Why were they allowed inside and he wasn’t? This was the biggest wedding Fort George had ever seen and he wanted to be there too!

Sweet violin music drifted through the open door of the manager’s Big House and lured Zander closer. He eased his hand out of his brother’s and edged over to the porch to peer through the factor’s dearly bought, small-paned glass windows. Unfortunately, thick, flowery, lace curtains barred his view.

A trapper clumped up from behind. Elaine! Don’t you go in there. It ain’t for the likes of you.

Zander whirled around, listening to the man.

And keep your young ’uns away too. Archibald said he don’t want you in there, and he meant it!

Zander watched as his mother dropped her head, her short, straight, black hair falling forward and hiding her face. Her shoulders slumped, and the baby sniffled. Mama? he whispered.

Good girl, said the trapper loudly. You do as you’re told. Why, when this is all over, you can come and visit me. I like Injuns—’specially the women.

The trapper’s blue eyes alighted on Zander and his brother, Willie. ’Course you can’t bring your big boys with you. Bring the baby though; I don’t mind babies. And then that trapper, too, opened the door and entered into the room where the music swirled and loud, merry voices celebrated.

Zander didn’t like the man. Don’t listen to him, Mama. He touched his mother’s shoulder. I’m a big boy. Let me go in, he urged. It is wet and cold standing out here. Mama, please...

Elaine’s lips tightened. We must not. She looked about to reprimand him.

Why?

Her lovely brown eyes softened as she looked at him. Finally she said, I see you want to go in, Zander. But we must not. We must not.

Zander dipped his head and stared at the ground, stubbornness rising in him. He’d never seen a wedding before.

Another white man entered the building, then the heavy door closed with a solid thunk.

Behind that door, Zander could hear laughing and clapping. Just one peek? he begged. Please. Let us go in.

No, Zander, she answered firmly. Take Willie’s hand. We can watch from here. And remember, we must be very, very quiet.

Reluctantly, Zander took his brother’s hand. But even with his face pressed against the cold, hard glass of the windows, Zander could barely see blurs on the other side of the curtains. I can’t see anything, he muttered.

Suddenly, he released Willie’s hand and ran to the big, heavy wooden door. He grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. Then he darted inside.

Zander, cried his mother hoarsely. Zander. Come back!

Zander entered on quick, silent feet and peered around the room. He could have stomped into the room, but with all the music and people, no one would have heard or noticed him, he realized.

In one corner of the brightly lit room, three fiddlers played a rousing jig that shook the rough log walls.

Laughing men and women danced to the music. A huge fire burned in the dried mud and slate fireplace. Against one wall stood a plank table with heaped platters of venison and elk meat, bowls of vegetables, and baskets of berries. Zander’s mouth watered at the sight.

His mother suddenly appeared at his side and nudged him urgently. Zander! We must go. We cannot stay...

But when he glanced at her, she was staring open-mouthed at someone. He saw that she was just as curious as he was. Didn’t Mama want to see the fancy wedding, too?

Zander darted toward a corner and hid behind a group of men and women. The violins ceased their wailing, and the crowd flowed over to one side of the room. Zander could hear murmurings.

He craned his neck to see what everyone was excited about. He tried edging around people, but they were all taller than he. Finally, frustrated, he returned to his mother. I want to get closer, he said. I want to see.

She touched his arm and whispered, Only for a moment. But you must stay close to me. We may have to leave very quickly. For a few minutes, he stayed beside her, but most of his vision was filled with broad backs clad in rough coats.

...now pronounce you man and wife, said a loud voice, and Zander’s attention was drawn to the rotund priest standing in the midst of the crowd. The priest raised his arm, and his black robes rustled with his excitement. We need some room. Back, back! he cried in a jovial voice. We must make room for the happy couple!

Zander moved away from his mother and brother and stepped closer to the priest. Oh, how he wanted to explore, to roam the room, eat the food, and dance to the music. A wedding!

Zander! He heard his mother’s hoarse plea, but he ignored it. Willie could stay with her. Willie was still little.

Zander circled the crowd that stood between him and the priest and the ‘happy couple’—the bride and groom.

He sidled up close to the front. Suddenly he halted. Something was very wrong.

Whatever was his father doing here? And dressed like that, in a strange gray suit that seemed to choke him at the collar? And why was he holding the hand of that pale, brown-haired woman? She wore a long, white dress and looked like she had just sucked on a bitter berry.

Father? he asked, walking toward them.

Unaware of the silence that immediately fell across the gathered men and women, Zander continued to stare.

Father? Sir? His voice rang clearly in the silence.

Archibald Durban glared at him.

Zander’s face flushed in embarrassment. It was true that his father ignored him most of the time, but surely Archibald Durban could say something to him, could tell him what was happening here...

Archibald mouthed the words, Get out! Then he glanced back at the white woman, almost in fear.

She, too, glared at Zander. Then she glared at Archibald.

Zander’s throat tightened. The ‘happy couple,’ he suddenly realized. No. It couldn’t be. Why was his father marrying this woman? What about his mama?

He watched the woman’s pale skin turn a rosy, mottled shade. Do something, Archibald, Jane Potter hissed at her bridegroom. Now!

Archibald signaled with a nod of his head. Out of the corner of his eye, Zander saw a trapper move toward him.

Zander gritted his teeth and ran over to his father. Jaw tight, Zander clenched his fist and punched his father as hard as he could in the stomach. That’s for not marrying my mama! he cried in a thin, clear voice.

A horrified gasp went up from the onlookers. One or two smothered chuckles could be heard. A woman screamed. Another woman fainted.

Archibald, I will not have it! shrieked the bride. Get him out of here! He’s one of your Indian bastards, I know it! Jane Potter yanked up a handful of her white dress, ready to chase after Zander.

Zander glared at her. Who are you? You should not marry my father! What about my mama?

His voice shook with anger. He glanced around at the sea of faces. Some of them looked horrified; one man snickered. A woman giggled behind her hand. Anger surged through Zander. How could his father do this? What would happen to his mama? To him?

Get him out of here! screamed the red-faced woman in lace. Take him away! I never want to see him again!

Archibald patted his new wife’s arm to try and calm her. She shoved his hand away.

The trapper grabbed Zander by his arms and dragged him through the crowd.

Well done, whispered a mixed-blood woman to Zander. Your mama should be very proud.

Hush, Sally, said another. Look how angry Archibald is!

Zander got one last glance of his father’s furious face before the trapper pushed him out the door of the house and then off the porch. The door slammed, and Zander was alone, sprawled in the mud in the pouring rain.

A moment later the same door opened, and his sobbing mother, clutching Baby Adeline and little Willie, staggered through the doorway.

And don’t you come back! yelled the trapper. You’re not his true wife. You’re only his country wife, d’ye hear? Only his country wife! Then he slammed the door again.

Zander struggled out of the mud and winced as he crawled onto the porch. What happened, Mama? he asked, bewildered. What happened?

Hush, you bad boy! scolded Elaine. You just ruined your father’s wedding! Then she started to weep. She fell to her knees and put one arm around Zander, one arm holding Baby Adeline. His mother’s thin body shook with her sobs.

I didn’t mean to, Mama! I didn’t mean to! cried Zander, sobbing with her.

She lifted her wet, streaked face. Hush, child, she gasped, it’s not your fault. Then she burst into fresh sobs. Zander’s face contorted with his tears and then Willie started crying, too. The baby awoke and gave a loud wail. They all stood on the porch, crying, until a trapper came out and pushed them off the porch and out into the rainy night.

****

The next morning, Archibald Durban ordered Elaine and his children away from their small cabin at the fort. He told her they must never return.

Eyes red-rimmed, Zander and his mother and his brother sat listlessly on the wet grass beside the bedraggled, rotting weeds in the fort’s garden. His mother cradled Willie in her lap, and Zander held Baby Adeline.

The travelling priest approached. When the man in the black robe asked Elaine what ailed her, she told him how she feared being unable to feed her three children now that their father would no longer help her. She begged him to take Alexander with him, so the boy could live and study with the Jesuits.

The priest consented.

At noon, Alexander Durban, back straight, eyes dry, said farewell to his mother and brother, kissed the baby on the forehead, and strode after the priest through the fort’s open wooden gates. He never looked back.

Chapter One

Late Summer, 1826

Local Trappers’ Rendezvous in the Blue Mountains

Who the hell is that?

Alexander Durban dropped his playing cards on the plank table and leaned back to watch the white woman with the flowing, blond curls sweep past him, trailed by two rugged trappers as escort. Her long, blue dress that could only have been made in St. Louis, clung to her generous figure. With every proud step she took, a huge, yellow ostrich feather bobbed up and down on her blue-and-yellow bonnet.

Jacques Dupuis, a player in the card game, glanced at Zander’s cards.

That, answered Pierre Renard, the third player, is Dorie Primfield.

Zander’s eyes narrowed as he watched her sashay past the gawking trappers and Indians. He knew he should be watching Renard’s and Dupuis’s sticky fingers on the cards, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman. Not just yet.

And who is Dorie Primfield?

Renard slipped himself an extra ace and answered, "Why, mon ami! Dorie Primfield, for those who don’t know, is the lovely young sister of Prudence Pomeroy."

Dupuis chimed in. I ’ave heard the name. She is the wife of the clerk, is she not?

"Oui. Mrs. Pomeroy is good wife to Leland Pomeroy, Clerk at Fort Walla Walla."

Well, that explains the lovely Dorie’s presence, then, answered Zander sarcastically as he stared at her.

Renard smiled and slipped himself a king this time. "Oui, it does, mon ami. He laughed and took pity on Zander. The lovely Dorie, as you so well describe her, is travelling to Fort Walla Walla to marry Clarence Biddle, chief trader at the fort."

Haven’t heard of him. Zander liked the way she walked. Her hips swayed with each step.

I don’t know much about him, either, admitted Renard. In command at Fort Walla Walla. Supposed to be a loyal Hudson’s Bay Company man.

Oh.

Supposed to be a fair trader, too. Unless you’re Indian. Renard chuckled. And for mixed-bloods like you, Zander, he charges extra on a trade.

Biddle sounded like an idiot, thought Zander. He brushed a strand of thick, black hair back from his face. Well, she’s welcome to him, he snarled, angry that the woman was already promised.

Dorie Primfield had halted her momentum through the crowd and was talking to one of her escorts. All heads turned to watch her as she leaned over the short, burly trapper, speaking earnestly with him. Zander wondered idly what she was saying as he stared speculatively at her lacy bosom.

I see you, and I raise you, said Dupuis, tossing two coins on the table.

Startled at the reminder of the game, Zander picked up his cards.

Renard plunked down two coins. I see you, and I call you.

Zander laid two coins on the pile, peered at his cards, and then shook his head in disgust. He slapped his cards on the table, but his eyes sought out the woman.

I win! Renard laughed as he hauled in their money.

****

Zander glanced around. All the way down to the river he could see the high cones of tepees. In the other direction, all the way back to the foot of the mountains, he could see the square shapes of trappers’ tents. Cries and shouts punctuated the air as drunken trappers argued. Someone was singing a French ballad near one of the tents. A haze of smoke in the air stung Zander’s nostrils. A loud yell from nearby told him another fight had started. He heard a woman’s shrill scream and a man’s hoarse laughter.

He pushed his way through the crowd of trappers and fur traders. The smell of unwashed skin, greasy leather, and wood smoke assailed his nostrils. The annual Trappers’ Rendezvous had attracted a score of Hudson’s Bay Fur Company dignitaries, two score trappers, and three score Indians—all here to trade beaver furs for iron axes, rifles, blankets, and, most preferably, liquor.

Zander had attended the Rendezvous hoping to sell enough of his trinkets and trade goods to be able to settle down this year. He was tired of the trading trips back and forth from St. Louis. This was his third, and he hoped, last year of making the long journey. This year he would pay back Sebastian and Monvay and be his own man again, owing no one. This year he would have enough money to be his own trader, and he would set up a permanent trading post near Fort George, far to the west at the mouth of the wide Columbia River. Fort George was his boyhood home. There he would receive his trade goods by ship instead of carrying them by mule and horse across leagues of wilderness. That was his plan, and it was a good one.

Zander was taller than most of the trappers, and he easily spotted the yellow feather bobbing through the crowd. On a whim, he followed the feather until the sweating humanity suddenly parted, and he came face-to-face with Miss Dorie Primfield.

Oh. Her blue eyes were, surprisingly, almond-shaped as she stared up at him.

He smiled and touched his leather hat brim. A touch of pink grew in her cheeks. So, she was flustered, was she? Good day, Miss Primfield.

I—I don’t believe we have met, sir. She glanced around and brightened. Mr. Ross, she said, tapping gingerly on the shoulder of a short, burly trapper with graying hair tufts standing out from his hat and a rifle slung across his back. Do introduce me to this gentleman. She turned and smiled expectantly at Zander as she awaited the introduction.

Clifton Ross, trapper and some-time denizen of Fort Walla Walla snorted. That’s no gentleman, he snorted. That’s Zander Durban.

Zander could feel his smile tighten.

Dorie paled. I—I don’t believe I’ve heard—

Nothin’ to hear about him, Miz Primfield. He’s a horse trader and thie—

—I’ve had the pleasure of besting Mr. Ross at trading a time or two, interrupted Zander genially. I see he has not forgotten.

Ross snorted. You stay away from him, Miz Primfield. He ain’t a man for the likes o’ you.

Dorie Primfield blushed becomingly. I only asked to be introduced to him, Mr. Ross. I have no intention of pursuing him. She smiled at Zander as though they were in a conspiracy together.

You may pursue me any time you like, Zander said in a low voice. I promise not to run.

Dorie giggled.

Zander smiled. She had a dimple on one cheek. How charming. Not as charming as her heaving bosom, however. He moved closer to see if he could look down the frilly, laced neck of her dress.

Do you by any chance shoot, Mr., uh, Durban? she hesitated. Her skin was a delicate, flushed pink.

Call me Zander. He touched his hat brim again. At your service, Miss Primfield.

Oh, I couldn’t. Mr. Durban. Dorie Primfield smiled, and Zander’s heart skipped a beat. God, her smile was sweet. Pearly white teeth, pink lips, a nose that was straight and freckled, winged brows... Strange, until this moment he had never been attracted to a white woman.

She was looking at him, her head tilted to one side as though awaiting his answer.

Uh—uh, shoot? he stammered, feeling as awkward as a youth talking to his first maiden. He cleared his throat.

Miss Primfield giggled, and he realized suddenly that she was laughing at him. I said, Mr. Durban, do you shoot?

He shrugged, turning away coolly, irritated that she had flustered him. When I have to.

Come along, Miz Primfield, said Clifton Ross taking her by the arm. Your fiancé wouldn’t want you talkin’ to Durban.

But—but—, sputtered Dorie Primfield as Ross dragged her away, I want to talk to him.

Durban smiled, his pride restored by her hasty admission. He met her last glance over the shoulder.

She smiled back.

****

Adora Elizabeth Primfield almost put a crick in her neck staring over her shoulder at the extremely handsome man before the crowd closed in behind her. He was tall, his long, black hair hinting at something exciting about him.

His eyes, when she’d looked into them, had been the deep, dark brown a woman could get lost in. He wore a glistening necklet of white dentalia shells and red beads at his throat and a fringed leather jacket over a red flannel shirt. His leather pants had long fringe on the sides and, at his waist, he carried a knife and his possibles bag, no doubt containing tobacco and dried meat and anything else he wanted to carry. Over his shoulder was slung his hunting bag containing a powder horn and shot. It was elaborately beaded in red and yellow and blue. She liked the blue and white floral beadwork on his jacket, too.

Propelled along by Clifton Ross’s hand on her arm, she had little choice but to go with him. I wish I could have found out if he was a good shot, she huffed and tried to shake her arm loose of Ross’s grip, but he held on.

Now see here, Miz Primfield. Clifton Ross’s voice took on the superior tone he frequently used with her. I can’t have you runnin’ after every Indian buck that comes up to talk to you. Why, Mr. Biddle would—

I don’t care what Mr. Biddle would do, snapped Dorie. I only wanted to talk to him.

Ross gave her a sidelong glance. If I left you alone with that snake for five minutes, I guarantee you wouldn’t be talkin’!

I can take care of myself, thank you!

No. No, you cain’t, Miz Primfield. That’s why Mr. Biddle hired me and Billy Bow to watch out for you. He gave her arm a painful squeeze. She winced.

Now don’t you be givin’ me and Billy any more trouble.

Let go of my arm, Mr. Ross. Really! Mr. Biddle will certainly hear about how you’ve mistreated me.

Clifton Ross thrust his face into hers. She gagged on his whiskey-tainted breath.

Mr. Biddle will hear nothin’ but how grateful you are for the escort, Miz Primfield. He glared at her, something evil lurking in his black eyes. Do you understand?

She plucked his arm off hers. I understand, Mr. Ross. I understand very well, thank you.

His grizzled face was full of menace. Good. You just remember that.

Dorie rubbed her arm and glanced away from him. She didn’t like Clifton Ross. Not at all. His partner, Billy Bow, was a mite better, though not by much. She didn’t understand why her fiancé would send these two rough men to escort her to the fort. Had he any idea what they were like? Evidently not. But she would let him know exactly what she thought of his choice of escorts the minute she arrived at Fort Walla Walla!

I wish to walk along and look at the trade articles, she said stiffly.

Very well, Miz Primfield, answered Clifton Ross, dropping back into his laconic trapper role. But Dorie was not fooled. The man was mean, and she would do well to beware of him.

She passed an array of items set out to entice furs from the Indians. There were knives, awls, bolts of red, yellow, and black calico, and bolts of red flannels, and blue silks. There were brass armbands and hawk bells, bolts of ribbon, blue trade beads, and dried raisins on the stem. There was even precious coffee. For the Indian men there was gun powder, flints, leads, steels for fire-starting, and fragrant, carrot-shaped coils of tobacco.

She walked along, Ross meandering along behind her. They were soon joined by Billy Bow. Billy was the younger of her escorts. His strapping, sandy-haired, gangly youthfulness of four and twenty belied the crafty look she always saw in his eyes. He told Dorie that he’d been trapping for ten years, but she didn’t believe him. He’d told her he was a good shot, but she didn’t believe that, either. Billy did almost everything Clifton Ross told him to do, unless he thought he could do something without Clifton Ross knowing about it. While sly, he wasn’t especially smart, but he was big and, though she hated to admit it, there were a few times on her journey from Rochester, Missouri, when she’d been glad of his brawn.

She glanced now and then at the trade items. She really didn’t give two hoots for the brass arm bands, beads, and calico cloth she saw; she’d just told Clifton Ross she did so she would have some