Free Charbonneau by Win Blevins

imitation, in dark brown, of just the sort of frock coat that gentlemen wore. He also had light brown pants and a fine-bosomed shirt decorated with a paste roseate stud. Baptiste thought he had never seen any clothes quite so elegant.
    The black man was waiting in Welch’s parlor to escort him to Clark’s house, for it was almost dark out. Baptiste couldn’t remember when Welch had allowed him out after dark, but this was an occasion. Baptiste walked fast enough to make sure he didn’t slow the black man down. The man admitted that his name was Isaiah, but had nothing else to say.
    The company dazzled Baptiste. Here was some of St. Louis’s first society: Clark and his wife Julia, the “Judith” he had longed for on the expedition and named a river after, Manuel Lisa and his wife Polly, Auguste Chouteau and his wife Therese. Lisa was a native Spaniard, a dark impulsive man, and spoke French with a thick accent. Chouteau, dressed quaintly in knee breeches with silver buckles on his shoes and his hair en queue , was the wealthy patriarch of one of St. Louis’s most distinguished French families. Baptiste had heard of both men. They had been involved in getting St. Louis’s fur trade started, and Clark had been one of their partners. There were also Bernard Pratte, the fur-trader, and his wife Emilie; Pierre Chouteau, Jr., and Bartholomew Berthold, partners in a store, and Berthold’s wife Pélagie, who was Pierre’s sister. Baptiste never got the other four children connected with the right parents.
    Clark introduced Baptiste to M. and Mme. Lisa. “He has been to the mountains many times, Paump,” Clark said, “and has stayed at the Mandan and Minataree villages.”
    “And I know your father—a fine man—and was acquainted with your mother, God rest her soul,” Lisa said in French. Lisa gave Paump the recent news of Chief Shehaka and Paump’s childhood friends. Charbonneau and Otter Woman and Toussaint and Lissette, he said, were doing splendidly. He thought they would be down to St. Louis before the river froze.
    Clark insisted that the children sit at the main dining table during dinner. It was a sumptuous meal, full of fishes and meats and rich sauces. Chouteau pronounced it exceptional, but Baptiste found it too strange to eat. He was not permitted to talk to Bernard, the boy next to him.
    After dinner they adjourned to the parlor. The ladies talked in one corner—Baptiste caught snatches about the Labbadie boy, who was gone east to school, and about the brazen behavior of the Cousteau girl, and something about extraordinary gowns brought up the river for Victoire Gratiot. The men assembled in another corner and talked about the prospects for reopening the fur trade, the new Bank of St. Louis, currency problems, and the advantages and disadvantages of statehood for Missouri. (Clark, hoping to become state governor, was avidly for statehood.)
    Baptiste fidgeted. He was self-conscious in his new clothes, and aware that his French didn’t sound just like the other children’s. Jefferson Clark, the youngest, was sitting with his hands pinned between his knees. Bernard was boasting to the little Pélagie: “My pa,” he said in French, “says I can go to the States for school if I want to—to Virginia. He’ll take me on his next trip if I want to go.”
    “But it’s so far.” Pélagie was a bright, pretty child, all done up in frills—lace on her bodice, ribbons around the bottom of her full skirt, her hair in long, shining curls.
    “Yes,” said Bernard, striking the pose of a young man, “but it’s important for us to get an education. St. Louis will need leadership.”
    “Yes,” said Pélagie softly.
    “My pa wants me to take over his business. But we have a lot of money already. I think, I’d like to be a lawyer.”
    “What’s a lawyer?” Baptiste put in.
    “Lawyers memorize the law,” Bernard answered decorously. “They represent clients in court cases. Sometimes they become judges.