Forever by Your Side (Willamette Brides #3) - Tracie Peterson Page 0,70

Christine shifted her son as his eyes grew heavy. He put his head on her shoulder.

The sound of Christine’s voice drew Connie back into the conversation. “I understand you made wonderful canoes.” She looked down at her journal, pencil poised to write. “Tell us about those.”

James picked up the conversation. “We made many good canoes, and not just for the river. They were used as coffins too. When a person died, we would put them in a canoe and lash them in with their favorite things, and then put the canoe up in the trees along the falls on either side of the river.”

“How did you make the canoes?” Tom asked. “Describe them to me.”

“We would find a large cedar log,” James replied. “We would strip the bark, then sand the wood until it was smooth. Woodworkers used fire to hollow them out. It made it much easier to carve. The front of the canoe had a shovel-nose.” He held out his hand to Tom for the journal and pencil. Tom handed both over. “They were twenty to twenty-five feet long. You could put hundreds of pounds in a canoe—even a dozen or more men. And some were carved with the most amazing patterns.” He drew quickly on the journal page, then handed it back to Tom.

Connie leaned over to see what James had drawn. It was quite good and easy to see that it was a canoe.

“Thank you,” Tom said, smiling. “This is very good.”

James seemed pleased. He was far and away one of the more friendly men they had encountered.

“Did your mothers and fathers make the march to Grand Ronde?” she asked.

Christine shook her head. “No. There was much sickness. They died in 1855. That year the Clackamas people signed a paper that deeded our lands to the white man. They promised to pay our people two thousand five hundred dollars a year for ten years.” She shook her head and looked down at her lap. “But they never did.”

Connie nodded, not knowing what else to say. There were stories of such failed arrangements among many of the tribespeople. Apparently the government was poor at keeping its word. No wonder the tribes at Grand Ronde were considering war as an option.

“Thank you for your time,” Tom said, getting to his feet. “It’s getting late, and we need to return home. Could we come again another time?”

James nodded. “It is good to tell old stories and remember the days when we were still a free people. You can come again tomorrow.”

Connie gathered her things and put them in the satchel she had taken to carrying when they made their rounds. Christine stood and placed the now-sleeping Ned on a pallet of blankets.

“I must leave now,” James said. He glanced at Christine. “I will be back later after I help Paul with his hay.” He nodded to Tom and then Connie. “You are always welcome, and I will tell the others good things about you.”

With that, he left, and Connie wondered if he was really going out to hay. Shame immediately hit her. She had become so suspicious of everyone. Papa had said James could be trusted and had even encouraged her to ask him about the weapons house. She’d gotten so caught up in his stories that she’d forgotten.

She smiled at Christine as they headed out of the house. She looked around for James, but he was already gone.

“Does James always help others with their hay?” Connie asked, hoping it wouldn’t be too prying.

“The men help each other. Paul helped James harvest earlier. The land is very bad, and it is hard to bring in crops for people. It’s better to plant food for horses and cattle and sheep. It was hard to make a farmer out of a fisherman, but my James is good at both.” Christine chuckled. “He can do most anything. Next week James and Paul will fish together. We will dry a lot of fish for the winter.”

“He seems to be a very good man,” Connie declared.

Christine glanced toward Tom, who was retrieving the horses. “Your man is good too. I can tell.”

Connie didn’t know what to do or say, and at the sound of someone approaching on horseback, she gratefully turned to see who it was. The last person she expected was a uniformed soldier. The man dismounted and strode toward them like he was in charge and they were his minions.

“I want your tribal pieces,” he said to Christine. “I’ve come to buy