Free Wilderness Days by Jennifer L. Holm Page A

in conflict with the government’s policy. There has been trouble elsewhere. The savages are unpredictable. It is our duty to protect you—from yourself, if necessary,” William added.
    Mr. Russell’s eyes flicked over to William. “Don’t much care for the government’s opinion of things. That’s why I come out here in the first place.”
    Father Joseph cleared his throat. “Monsieur Baldt, these Indians feel very strongly about living close to their ancestors’ graves.”
    “They’re superstitious, the lot of them,” William said dismissively.
    “Monsieur, they are no different than we are. Do we not wish to live near the resting places of our loved ones?”
    Chief Toke’s eyes met mine from across the table, and I swear he winked at me. Winked!
    “Boston William,” Chief Toke said in good, clear English, startling William. “You are foolish, but all young men are foolish. You should marry older woman. She make you wiser.”
    “I already have a wife, thank you,” William said coldly, completely missing Chief Toke’s point. But no one else did.
    Clearly, trying to tell William that the Chinooks were our friends would fall on deaf ears, so I took a more practical approach.
    “William, Mr. Russell is right. Who shall help us with the oyster harvest?” I asked. “We are all very much dependent on the goodwill and advice of Toke’s people.”
    “Miss Peck,” William said in a formal voice, his face going dark. “Obviously, your education was for naught. You’ve never learned that politics and matters of state are not affairs for a lady. Perhaps you ought to concern yourself with more suitable pursuits”—he shot a scathing look at my bald patch—“such as your hair.”
    Jehu, who had been silent the whole meal, turned to Keer-ukso and murmured,
“Yaka kahkwa pelton.”
    Keer-ukso nodded firmly, his eyes all seriousness.
“Nowitka. Kahkwa hoolhool.”
    Mr. Swan’s eyes flew wide open in something approaching dismay, but Mr. Russell just puffed on his pipe. Chief Toke nodded his head silently, as if in agreement.
    “You speak the Jargon?” I asked Jehu, rather surprised.
    He shrugged.
    William leaned forward, a curl to his lip, and addressed Jehu in a clipped voice. “And what, good sir, did you say?”
    “You’re an Indian agent and you don’t speak the Jargon?” Jehu asked, his Boston accent a stark contrast to William’s cultivated Philadelphia accent.
    “I have no need to learn such gibberish,” he said coldly. “Now, what did you say? And I caution you, sir, I am the governor’s man in the territory.”
    His threat hung on the air.
    Jehu stared at him calmly.
    The whole room had gone whisper quiet as we watched the two men stare each other down. Tension was thick in the air, and the room, which had mere moments ago seemed warm andwelcoming, suddenly felt charged. I had no idea what Jehu had said to Keer-ukso, but I had a suspicion it wasn’t very complimentary. William was right about one thing: he was the governor’s man, and he could harm both Jehu and Toke’s people. It was a dangerous situation. I leaped up and went to a shelf where I had put the pie.
    “Would anyone care for pie?” I asked, holding out the tin pan, a forced smile on my face.
    “What did you say?” William hissed at Jehu.
    Jehu merely stretched. He turned to me, and there was a twinkle in his eye. “Just that I was hoping Jane would be serving pie for dessert.”
    I breathed out in relief.
    “And will you look at this,” he said, holding out his plate, his eyes wide with mischief. “It seems she is.”
    The men were up bright and early the next morning. Mr. Swan was bustling about the cabin in a very determined sort of way, packing a sack with biscuits from the previous evening and raiding any food in plain sight.
    “When will you be back?” I pushed myself up on my elbows sleepily.
    He pulled his wool blanket off his bunk, crumpled it into a ball, and shoved this also into his sack. Were these