13
The Volunteers
Nicole and Frank had walked halfway across the main room of the trading post blockhouse when Nicole heard Raoul's voice thundering from the stone-walled counting office in the far corner.
"You and the boys will stay at Victoire!"
Nicole touched Frank's arm, and they stopped and drew back a little, standing beside the long black barrel of the six-pounder naval cannon Raoul had set up in the blockhouse. It would be best not to intrude on Raoul when he was in the midst of a quarrel.
"But none of them French people there like me," a woman answered, high, nasal, with a Missouri twang. "It's downright lonesome." Nicole recognized Clarissa Greenglove's voice.
"I'm going to be gone and your father's coming with me. Where the hell else would you stay?"
"With my Aunt Melinda in St. Louis. That'd be a perfect place. You could send me down on the Victory.'"
"Of course I could." Raoul's voice was creamy with sarcasm. "And then do you know what would happen? Half those men who are out in the courtyard now volunteering for my militia company would quit. Because if I send you and Phil and Andy away, it means their families aren't safe. And so they'd insist on staying home to protect them."
His voice rose to a shout. "Do you understand now, goddamn it? Then get the hell out of here."
A moment later Clarissa scurried out past the iron-reinforced door of Raoul's counting room. The two small boys she'd borne to Raoul ran beside her floor-length calico skirt. She'd gotten to be round-shouldered, Nicole saw.