They stood on the deck with the other passengers when they set sail, and watched New Orleans slowly disappear behind them. Jean was relieved to leave the city. It had made such a bad impression on him during this last trip that he would be perfectly happy to never see it again. But there were other things he knew he would miss in the New World, the beautiful countryside, the forests, the terrain he had covered in Canada and out west, the majestic mountains, the incredible plains that went on forever with buffalo grazing, and animals running free in the territory where Wachiwi came from. And he suspected she would miss it too. He put an arm around her as America disappeared on the horizon, and they set out on a rolling sea. Some of the other women had already taken to their cabins, feeling unwell, and one or two of the men, but Wachiwi told Jean in sign language, not knowing the words for it yet, that she liked the movement of the ship. He taught her how to say it in French. She was smiling broadly, her long black hair whipping in the wind, a heavy shawl around her shoulders, and a look of freedom in her eyes. To her, being on the boat felt a little like galloping across the plain. She felt wonderfully free being on the ocean, and she loved being with him. She trusted him completely, and wherever he chose to take her. She was looking forward to the days ahead, and so was he, especially once they got back to France. He was planning to buy horses for her to add to their stables at the château. She was such an extraordinary rider, that he wanted to buy her the finest horses he could find. His brother was an excellent horseman too, and Jean knew he would be impressed by Wachiwi’s skill.

By nightfall, the boat was pitching heavily, but Wachiwi wasn’t sick. She was proving to be a sturdy sailor, and Jean was relieved. It would be a long two months otherwise. And after a light dinner in the cramped dining room, they went to bed. Wachiwi said the ship felt like a cradle, and it lulled both of them to sleep.

The next day they walked around the small deck. About half of the passengers had remained in their cabins and were feeling sick. Wachiwi stayed out on the deck all day, and Jean sat with her in a sheltered corner. He read, and she did some embroidery with things they’d bought in New Orleans. She was embroidering a shirt for him, with what looked like tiny Indian beads. She explained to him that it was for their wedding day, and he looked pleased. They spent another quiet night, and the next days went well.

They had been at sea for three weeks when Jean began feeling sick, and said he had a sore throat. Wachiwi was feeling fine and brought him some hot tea from the galley. She wished she had the right herbs to put in it, but they had nothing on the ship. She put her blanket around Jean’s shoulders. They were outdoors so much of the day that Jean said he had caught a chill. But that night he was worse.

By the next day he had a raging fever, and for the next week he was frighteningly sick, and delirious most of the time. Wachiwi sat beside him quietly and never moved. The captain came to see Jean in his cabin, and said he needed to be bled, but they had no doctor on board. The captain said he had seen something like it before and told Jean he thought he had “inflammatory quinsy,” which was a severe infection of the throat. Within a week of coming down with it, Jean’s throat was so sore and swollen that he could no longer swallow. Wachiwi tried for hours to get him to take a few sips of water or tea, but his throat was almost closed and he could hardly breathe.

He looked worse day by day, and after two weeks of it, Wachiwi sat beside him, chanting softly to the Great Spirits she had prayed to all her life. She begged them to come to him and make him well. She knew that a sweat lodge would have helped him to break the fever, but there was nothing like it on the damp, drafty ship. She covered his shivering form with everything they had to keep him warm, and when he felt chilled to the bone, she lay on him to share her body heat with him. Nothing helped. And she held him in her arms all through the night.

They had been at sea for almost six weeks by then, and the captain estimated that they were another two weeks from shore as Jean continued to get steadily worse. He looked ravaged by whatever disease he had. Wachiwi had a dream about the white buffalo one night as she held him, and thought it was a sign of some kind. But she had no one to tell her what the sign meant, nor any of the herbs or potions or berries that she might have used to help him, or that a medicine man would have given him in her tribe. They were at sea as he got sicker and sicker. She lay holding him and crying seventeen days after he fell ill, and when she fell asleep that night, he died quietly in her arms. She woke and found him, his eyes open, staring at her, as though he had been watching her when he died, his jaw slack, and his arms around her. He already felt cold and stiff. She wrapped him tightly in her blanket and held him gently on their bed. She was thunderstruck by what had happened. It had never occurred to her that he would die and leave her alone. He was so young and strong. She had been sure he would recover, even though he was very, very sick. She silently closed the door of the cabin and went to tell the captain, who looked instantly distressed. He had been worried that there might be an epidemic of quinsy on the ship. He didn’t know how contagious it was, and so far no one else had it, so it clearly wasn’t as contagious as other diseases that had gone like wildfire through other ships. But there was no question in his mind that they had to bury Jean at sea. He didn’t want the body kept on board.

The captain explained that to Wachiwi after they left the cabin where Jean lay wrapped in her blanket and looked like he was asleep. He told her that they couldn’t keep his remains on board, they would have to bury him at sea. She nodded, still trying to absorb what had happened. She looked as though she was in shock, and what he described to her was not in her customs, but she was ready to do what he felt best, and they agreed to hold the burial that afternoon. The captain wanted to give her some time with him till then, and she sat next to Jean in the cabin, kissing his cold face and stroking his silky hair. He looked totally at peace. She knew then that that had been the meaning of the white buffalo she had dreamed of. He had come to carry Jean away, and she began a low chant as she sat next to him, praying to the Great Spirits to welcome him and keep him safe.

Wachiwi looked devastated when four sailors came to take his body and put him on a litter, and she followed them upstairs to the deck. All the other passengers were there except two women who had scarcely left their cabins and had been sick for the entire trip. Everyone looked solemn, and one of the male passengers had volunteered to read a passage from the Bible and say a prayer. The captain had offered to wrap Jean in a French flag, but Wachiwi wanted him left in her blanket. She wanted Jean to take it with him, to keep him warm. She looked into the dark, deep waves, and it frightened her to leave him there, but she understood that there was no other choice. She covered her mouth to stifle a cry when two of the sailors tipped the litter, and Jean’s body wrapped in her blanket slipped silently into the sea. He disappeared almost instantly, and Wachiwi gave a mournful cry that was the sound of grieving in her tribe.

She stood for a long time at the back of the ship, looking out at the ocean as silent tears poured down her cheeks. Everyone on the ship left her alone, and at nightfall she went back to the cabin where he had died, and lay on the spot where he had lain in the bed, and she cried all night. She had no idea what would happen to her now, and she no longer cared. She knew without a doubt that he had been the only man she would ever love. What happened to her now no longer mattered to her. She would have jumped into the ocean after him, to follow him, but she hadn’t dared. It was the first time in her life that her courage had failed.

In the morning, she came back on deck, carrying armloads of his belongings, and she explained in her halting French that in her village, one must give away a dead man’s things, because he cannot take them with him. And since she had observed none of the other Sioux rites for him, she wanted to honor this one. She gave the sailors his shirts because they were about his size. One of the passengers was grateful for his buckskin pants. The captain took the fine dark blue coat although it was tight for him. There was a musket they could use on board. Another passenger took his boots, and his wife was grateful for Jean’s books. One by one they all took something, and the only thing Wachiwi kept was the wedding shirt she was making for him. She would have liked to bury him in it, but there wasn’t time. She was going to finish it anyway and put it away, as a memory of him. But the real memories she had of him were far more vivid, of meeting him near the waterfall, their daily encounters at the lake, startled, excited, fascinated by each other, their terrible battle with Napayshni, and riding for days together to escape… his kindness to her… his gentleness… their passion and the way they made love… the words he had taught her… the beautiful dresses he gave her in St. Louis… the way he looked at her with tenderness and love and respect… his promises to her of their life in France… it had all left with him when he slipped into the sea, but Wachiwi knew that as long as she lived, she would love him and never forget him.

Chapter 12

With a strong wind that came up behind them unexpectedly, La Maribelle sailed into port a few days early. The journey had taken a little less than eight weeks, and Wachiwi stood on deck, wondering what would happen when they came into port. She knew the name of his family’s château, he had mentioned it often, it bore his name, but she had no idea how to get there, or how to find his brother, or what he would do when he discovered Jean was dead. Perhaps he would send her away. And she had nowhere to go. She had given the captain Jean’s money for safekeeping, but she didn’t know how much it was, or how far it would get her. She knew nothing about white man’s money, all she knew about was trading for furs and horses. And that would do her no good here.