Where the Trail Ends: American Tapestries (12 page)

The light rain revived their tired party. For the first time in weeks, Samantha heard laughter around her. Even Mrs. Kneedler was outside dancing in the rain. Mama would have liked that—a time to dance. If she were with them, Samantha could see her dancing too.

Samantha soaked a rag in the rain and dabbed Micah’s face over and over with the coolness.

Before it got dark, Samantha helped Papa carry Micah into the tent, and then she cut up pieces of jerky for Papa and for Boaz. Micah’s eyes opened slightly. He seemed to listen to the rain.

“Mama?” Micah asked as the sun began to set.

Papa cleared his throat and reached for the Bible that had been in their family for a hundred years. He read from the book of Isaiah: “‘Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.’”

He closed the book. “Your mother wouldn’t want us to be afraid, nor would she want us to give up.”

“Did she send the rain?” Micah asked, his body shaking under the blanket.

“Perhaps she asked God to send it to us.” Papa patted his shoulder. “Eliza was pretty persuasive.”

Someone cleared his throat outside the tent. “Can I come in?” Jack asked.

Samantha took a deep breath.

“Come in.” Papa stood up. “I need to get my bedroll ready under the wagon.”

Jack removed his dripping hat, leaving it by the flap, and then he sat down on the other side of Micah, placing his hand on her brother’s arm. “How are you doing?”

Micah tried to smile. “Not so bad.”

“What were you doing out in that canyon by yourself?”

“Trying to help.” Micah turned to her, his eyes wide. “Like Sam does.”

“Out here, it’s better to help in pairs.” Jack didn’t look at her, but she knew he meant those words even more for her than for Micah.

“Speaking of help...” He looked over at her now. “What can I do to help you?”

“Just get us to Fort Vancouver as soon as possible.”

He sighed. “I’m already trying to do that.”

When he started to stand, she reached out to stop him. “You did a good job today, Jack.”

He shook his head. “We lost the Oxfords’ wagon.”

“Yes, but you managed to divide up their things into the other wagons. You got everyone over the cliff safely and found us a good place to spend the night.”

He studied her for a moment. “Thank you.”

After he left their tent, she leaned back against her pillow, listening to Micah’s slow breathing and the steady beat of the rain.

Before they left Missouri, Papa had soaked the tent with linseed oil to repel any water. If only she could soak her heart in linseed oil as well, to ward off all the mixed feelings that penetrated it.

Did she love Jack? Did he love her? He was kind to her and Micah, and he was certainly a brave man...and a good one. But she didn’t know if she could trust him, at least not enough to marry him.

Why couldn’t he be honest with her about what had happened the night before their company split into two? Why couldn’t he understand why it was so important for her to know the truth?

She closed her eyes, trying to sleep, but her mind kept trying to unravel the unknowns. If she didn’t marry Jack, she could help Papa build their house and their farm. She could help him care for Micah.

She wanted to marry one day—she just wasn’t sure she wanted to marry Jack Doyle.

Jack leaned his head back against the rock, his rifle propped on his lap. The glittering stars reminded him of the welcoming lights in his parents’ home. His older brothers, their wives, and the seven grandchildren would gather at the farmhouse soon, preparing to help his parents harvest the grain from the fields. It was the first time that he’d ever been away for a harvest.

Two years ago, he’d heard rumblings about people beginning to travel west, and he knew, without a single thread of doubt, that he had to go. It had taken him another year to save the money and accumulate the supplies for such a journey. He’d been sad to say good-bye to his family, but ever since Jenny died, he’d wanted to leave Indiana. He thought he would leave the painful memories of losing her behind, but the memories traveled the miles with him.

He didn’t know what he was doing, trying to act like a leader when he clearly was not one. Now Micah was wounded and Prudence Kneedler had been complaining of stomach pains. And she said her teeth hurt. He only hoped she hadn’t contracted the camp fever the traders had mentioned back at Fort Hall. They’d said it could be deadly.

The only reason he’d agreed to lead this party as captain was because he couldn’t in good conscience leave the Kneedlers or Waldrons or any of the others behind, especially since he had planned to marry Samantha when they got to the Willamette.

How could he desert the woman he’d been planning to marry?

In spite of the warnings at Fort Hall, no warring Indians or rabid coyotes had threatened their party. Back on the plains, the natives had followed them at times, and a group had swarmed their caravan once, scaring them. But the natives hadn’t wanted to hurt them. They’d only wanted to trade their dried meat and pelts for tobacco and cotton shirts.

He was plenty worried about hostile Indians, but if he were honest, Jack was much more worried about grizzly bears in these mountains and the steep cliffs that hindered their path. Some place around here there was supposed to be a path through these mountains, but he didn’t have any idea where it was. They’d already searched for two days, felling the smaller trees and removing rocks when necessary to clear a path, but with four wagons following him, it was difficult to search effectively. Not only was their climb rugged, he also had to look for water for the people and livestock and places to rest as well.

Now he knew why the few people who had gone before them left their wagons behind and used packhorses for this final stretch. They could get over the mountains much easier without all the supplies.

But he couldn’t suggest leaving their wagons to this group—at least not yet. They were already divided about how to proceed. He didn’t have Captain Loewe’s persuasion or ability to lead. Even in the situation with the dogs, the captain had felt fully justified in what he was doing and was therefore confident in his decision. Jack just felt confused.

He closed his eyes.

He was confused about where to go and confused about what to do regarding Samantha. He didn’t want to bring harm to her family. Why couldn’t she trust him to do what was best for them? To do what was best for
her
?

Jenny always trusted him.

“Do you think we’re going to make it?”
Samantha had asked.

The truth was, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if they would make it safely across these mountains.

And he didn’t know if he and Samantha could ever marry.

He hadn’t asked her to become his wife, but he’d certainly thought about it. He’d hinted about it too, before the incident with
the dogs. Samantha had seemed agreeable to the idea, but now everything had changed between them.

Confusion twisted his gut.

Samantha sometimes reminded him of the swift river currents that had beat up against their wagons. He wanted to be strong for his wife, his family, and he wanted to understand the woman he married. But Samantha often did things he didn’t understand.

When he married again, he hoped he could recapture just a bit of the wonder he’d experienced with Jenny. He didn’t expect his future wife to be like Jenny, but he wanted to love her as much as he’d loved his first wife.

He groaned in the darkness. He didn’t know what he was going to do.

Weariness weighed down his eyes, and he fought against it. Only two hours remained until he’d wake the caravan to continue their journey. He had to stay awake for the sake of everyone in his care.

Something shuffled in front of him, and he sat up straighter, squinting into the darkness.

Was someone out there, watching them?

He glanced back at the four wagons, but he didn’t see any movement. The animals and people alike were exhausted from another long day.

He was plenty aware of the fact that they weren’t alone. He only hoped that it was just a curious coyote or a skunk coming to check out the invaders of their wilderness.

Chapter Ten

Samantha rolled over on the feather tick, trying to sleep in the midst of the noise, but then she bolted upright on her bed. Boaz was barking.

Panic seized her for a moment—the thought of someone shooting her dog because he had awakened their party. She almost hushed him but stopped when she remembered that Captain Loewe was no longer among them.

Her fear of losing Boaz was quickly replaced by another fear. He wouldn’t disturb them unless something was wrong.

She couldn’t see Micah sleeping in the tent beside her, but when she reached out, she could feel his arm wrapped tightly around his knapsack. His chest rose and fell, his sleep seemingly unaffected by Boaz and now the barking of the Oxford and Parker family dogs.

When Boaz began to growl, she slipped out of the tent.

She looked around their camp, at the dark branches that quivered in the mountain breeze. With all the cliffs and pine trees, there had been no clearing available for their wagons to form a circle of protection, so each wagon stood in a ragged line with rocks or tree limbs securing the wheels. Aside from the dogs’ barking, the only sound was a river flowing at the base of the canyon, the water just out of their reach over a rocky cliff.

Papa was already awake, lighting a tallow candle at the foot of their wagon. When he lifted the tin box toward her, candlelight filtered through the holes and spilled a spidery web of light on the
ground. Branches and leaves crunched under the footfalls of their companions as they hurried toward the Waldrons’ wagon.

“Where’s Jack?” Arthur asked.

“I don’t know,” Papa said. “He was guarding tonight.”

Boaz strained at the rope leashing him to the wagon. Then something crashed in the forest, and Samantha’s heart lurched. Was it an animal or a person stalking their company?

Boaz growled again, pulling against his rope until it snapped.

“Come back!” she yelled, but he listened to her as well as she listened to Papa. His gray form melded into the darkness.

Then she heard another growl, this one fiercer than any she’d heard before.

She picked up her skirt. “Boaz!”

“Don’t run,” Jack commanded from the other side of her tent. “It’s a bear!”

Papa cocked his gun, and she climbed back into the tent to retrieve both her gun and her possibles bag. Micah lay on the bed, and she quickly kissed his forehead before climbing back out of the tent. She and Papa were having more of an adventure than she ever could have imagined, but she didn’t want adventure any longer. Not if it meant someone else getting hurt.

A bear crashed through the trees, and she fell back against the wagon. In the moonlight, she could see saliva foaming around its mouth and its dark fur pulsating with anger. It bore sharp teeth and growled at them, a terrible noise that sent chills across her skin.

She hoisted her gun onto her shoulder, but her arms trembled. The bear charged at one of the oxen. A dog dove at the animal, trying to stop it, but the bear batted the dog away as if he were a fly.

She didn’t know which dog it was, but when he yelped, her heart tore.

“Sam?” she heard Micah call.

“Don’t move!” she yelled back at him.

“What is it?”

There was no time to reply. She pressed her rifle against her shoulder, trying to aim in the darkness. She didn’t want to kill the animal, but she had to shoot to protect Micah and Papa and the others.

The bear kept moving, zigzagging across the camp toward the livestock. She couldn’t shoot yet, not when she might hit a person instead.

Another dog lunged for the bear, and this time the bear turned around to see what attacked it.

“Steady!” Jack called out. “Hiram, you shoot.”

Papa’s gun blasted, and the bear whirled again. It seemed to forget the dog as it roared in anger. She didn’t know if the bear had been hit, but as Papa reloaded, Samantha and several others took aim. She closed her eyes and shot.

The bear moved slower now, but the balls didn’t stop it. Yet.

They had to stop it.

In the dim light, she reloaded her gun, shaking black powder into her barrel. Then she reached for a patch in her bag. She spit on it and rammed it along with another ball down the barrel.

Papa cried out, and she looked up. The bear reared up on its hind legs, its paws three feet above her. The sickening heat of its breath rained down on her skin, and she lifted her rifle, aiming at his head.

Her gun blasted again, and in an instant, the roaring stopped as the bear teetered on his feet. She leaped back as he toppled over.

The earth quaked under her feet; pinecones bobbed up and down. Then silence hung in the night as they all stared at the bear, the seconds crawling so slowly that it seemed like hours. She filled her rifle one more time just in case it lifted its head again.