Shaman Part 35

When Raoul saw Elysee shuffling through the gate, leaning on his silver-headed walking stick, he felt a new tingle of dread. How would his father greet the move he was going to make? Except for a few brief and bitter meetings at which he and Papa and Pierre had tried and failed to settle their differences, he had not spoken to his father in six years. Armand often brought infuriating news of the old man's growing fondness for the mongrel, making Raoul hate the redskinned b.a.s.t.a.r.d all the more. Elysee would hardly be happy with what he did today, of course. But would Papa try to fight his only surviving son? If he did, Raoul would have to fight back, and then he might be punished by G.o.d.

_Nonsense. G.o.d doesn't side with Indians. What I am doing is right, because Pierre was seduced and deluded._

But it wouldn't hurt to try to get in good with the old man. Raoul walked quickly over to him.

"Take my arm, Papa."

Elysee looked up at him, his eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed, his face blank, his skin wrinkled parchment.

_The old man's had his share of grief. Too bad he couldn't find reason to be happy with me. But that's his fault._

In a low, hoa.r.s.e voice Elysee said, "Thank you, son. It was good of you to come today."

Raoul sensed an accusation.

"Why wouldn't I come to my own brother's funeral?"

"Because you hated him," Elysee said softly.

At least the old man didn't seem to suspect that he had another reason for being here today. Containing his anger, Raoul helped his father walk to the grave. There he left Elysee with Guichard and went around to stand facing north, where he could see the chateau.

His nagging fear eased a little. So far he had seen no sign that he would meet with any opposition. It was hard to believe that the mongrel and his supporters could be planning anything in secret. Still he knew his heart would not slow down till this was all over.

Pere Isaac stood at the head of Pierre's grave, next to Marie-Blanche's tombstone. A faint breeze from the river didn't disturb his gray-black hair or his beard, but rustled the ta.s.sels of the purple stole around his neck, the winglike sleeves of his white surplice and his ankle-length black ca.s.sock.

Trying to hold still as his heart pounded and his hands trembled, Raoul watched Pere Isaac shake holy water over the coffin, which now lay at the bottom of the grave. The priest gave his sprinkler to one of the boys a.s.sisting him, opened a prayerbook bound in black leather and began the graveside prayers.

_Will this never end?_

Raoul stood with his head bowed. He puzzled over what Elysee had said about hating Pierre.

_Papa always loved Pierre more than me. Thought I was some kind of savage because I don't have all those French ways like him and Pierre.

I'm the most American member of this family, and he should be proud of me._

_I didn't hate Pierre. It was just this d.a.m.n business of him caring more about redskins than about his own people._

_And he wasn't there when I needed him._

Raoul found himself wishing he could talk to Pierre one last time, try to make him understand why he felt as he did and had to do the things he did. Looking down at the coffin in the grave, Raoul thought back to the last time he had seen Pierre. In early spring after the last of the snow melted on the ground, out riding Banner on the prairie, alone, he'd come upon Pierre, also riding alone. They had stared at each other and pa.s.sed without a word.

_I didn't know then that was my last chance to speak to him._

Raoul's eyes traveled over the people standing by the grave. Auguste stood between Elysee and Nicole, looking down into the pit. It pleased Raoul to see that apparently Auguste had no idea what was about to happen to him.

But how could he be _sure_ Auguste was unprepared?

Raoul looked over the heads of the mourners, and his heart beat faster with antic.i.p.ation. There, across the flat prairie land, he saw tiny figures surrounding the chateau.

Raoul's fingernails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists to hold himself together. What if the secret had gotten out? If Auguste knew what was about to happen, he would surely have prepared some kind of counterattack. Indians were d.a.m.ned sly.

Pere Isaac closed his prayerbook and put it into his coat pocket.

"This man whom we consign to American soil was, like so many of us, born on the other side of the ocean," he said. "He came of one of the oldest and n.o.blest families of France, fleeing the G.o.dless revolution that tormented their homeland, which was also my homeland. The de Marions gave themselves soul and body to this new land where they had to make their own way. Here t.i.tles and ancient lineage meant nothing."

_Get on with it, dammit!_

"G.o.d saw fit to try them sorely after they came here to Illinois. The mother of the family died in childbirth. A daughter died a horrid death at the hands of Indians, and a son"--he gestured at Raoul, who stared back at him, keeping his face expressionless--"held captive, a slave, by Indians for two years."

It was good that Pere Isaac mentioned that. It would prepare people to accept what was about to happen.

"Pierre de Marion was a good man, but he was also a sinner, like all of us. He fell into the sin of l.u.s.t, and that sin bore fruit. But Pierre did not hide his sin as so many men have. He reached out to his son through me and helped him. Eventually he acknowledged his son and brought him out of the wilderness to be educated for civilization."

Raoul looked across the open pit at Auguste. The half-breed's red-brown face was flushed an even darker color, but still he stared fixedly down into the grave.

_Time to start._

It was an immense relief to begin to move. First, he had to get back to the chateau ahead of the funeral procession and join his men there.

Slowly, so as not to attract attention, Raoul drew back from the graveside.

Auguste's feet felt heavy and confined in his cowhide boots as they crunched over the short stubble. He walked alone on the newly cut track back toward the great stone and log house. He could hear the sound of spades biting into the mound of dirt beside Pierre's grave and clods of earth thudding onto his coffin.

Auguste led the procession of mourners. The others let him walk apart, to be alone with his grief. Behind Auguste, he was aware, were Nicole and Frank and Nancy Hale and Pere Isaac, and then a long line of servants and farm hands and village people. Near the end of the procession Registre Bosquet played a sprightly tune, as was the custom among the Illinois French, a way of saying that life goes on. In the rear was the cart that had carried Pierre's coffin, with Elysee and Guichard.

As Auguste walked, he brooded about Pere Isaac calling him the fruit of sin. Why did the priest have to dishonor his mother and father so? In the eyes of the Sauk people he was no "b.a.s.t.a.r.d," as he knew some pale eyes called him. Still, he was glad that the priest said Pierre had done the right thing in bringing him here. Perhaps people would remember that, when Raoul tried to take the estate away from him.

As he surely would.

Auguste knew, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that it was only a matter of time before Raoul would strike at him.

He felt himself wishing for Black Hawk and Iron Knife and the other Sauk warriors, even Wolf Paw, to be here to stand by him. And Owl Carver and Sun Woman to advise him. Now he wished he had not agreed, at his father's insistence, to have no contact with the band. While he was being educated, being cut off from them had helped him become more quickly a part of the white world. But now that Pierre was gone he felt so terribly alone.

A chill fell over him like a cold downpour. Looking up, he saw men standing just outside the fence that surrounded the chateau, strung out in a line along the west side, where the gateway was. He had noticed them as he was leaving the graveyard, but had thought they must be hands, with field work of some sort important enough to keep them from the funeral. Now he was close enough to see that they were carrying rifles. Auguste recognized Raoul himself standing squarely in the gateway. How had he gotten over there? Auguste had thought he was with the funeral procession.

A cold hollow opened in his stomach as he grasped what was happening.

_The moment my father is buried. What a fool I was to think Raoul would wait awhile._

He heard people murmuring behind him.

"Oh my G.o.d," Nicole said. "Not now."

"Auguste!" It was Nancy's voice, shrill with fear. He shook his head, trying to tell her that he would not turn back, and kept on walking.

In a moment, thought Auguste, he might be joining his father on the Trail of Souls. He heard footsteps behind him crunching on the dry gra.s.s. It was a comfort to know that there were others near him, although he knew no one could really help him.

He had no idea what he would do. He asked Earthmaker to show him how to walk this path with courage and honor.