Where the Trail Ends: American Tapestries (14 page)

Samantha met Mrs. Kneedler resting against the oxcart that her husband had piled even higher than theirs.

“How are you feeling?” Samantha asked her.

Her hands were on her lips. “My mouth won’t seem to mend.”

“Are you glad you came to Oregon?” she asked the older woman.

Mrs. Kneedler blinked, her gaze traveling to the mountain ahead of them. “God refines us by fire, Samantha.”

Samantha turned her head. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Mrs. Kneedler paused, wiping the blood on her lips onto a handkerchief. Then she spoke again. “It was my son’s and then Arthur’s dream to go west, not mine.”

“It’s a long walk to go back home.”

“I don’t want to return. Through this trip, God has been sifting my heart, refining me, and, I hope, making me more like Him.”

More like Him
.

She pondered the woman’s words as the oxen pulled the carts forward.

Had she become more like God in the past months? There were times, she supposed, when she was more patient and kind than she had been in Ohio, and more courageous too, like Christiana in
The Pilgrim’s Progress
. The way to the Celestial City was hard, but Christiana and her sons gave up everything and persisted until they reached the end of their journey.

During these months, Samantha had become much less consumed with her worldly desires and things like the fine dresses she’d owned in Ohio. Her concerns now were about having enough water to drink and food to eat, taking care of her father and her brother, and staying warm on the cold nights.

But how could she become more like God?

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kneedler, but you still didn’t answer my question about whether you’re glad you came,” Samantha said.

Mrs. Kneedler walked slowly beside her. “I’m very glad to be able to see my son and his wife, but this journey isn’t about what makes me glad. It’s about what God requires of me.”

Samantha shook her head. “Sometimes it seems that He requires too much of us.”

Mrs. Kneedler gave her a curious look. “Are you angry at God?”

She thought for a moment. “Part of me is,” she admitted. “For taking my mother away.”

Mrs. Kneedler ducked under a tree branch and held it up for Samantha to walk under. “God understands your loss, child. He lost someone He loved as well.”

“But God knew He would be seeing His Son again.”

Mrs. Kneedler reached for her hand, squeezing it. “And you’ll be seeing your mama again one day as well.”

She nodded slowly. “It must make God sad to see so many of His children suffer.”

“I’m sure it does sadden Him, but He knows that this life is only temporary. One day His love will conquer all the evil and pain in this world.”

One day
.

Mrs. Kneedler walked forward to be with her husband, and Samantha dropped back and wiped the dust off George’s nose with the hem of her skirt. All three of their oxen had worked tirelessly, and now they had yet another mountain to climb.

Who knew how many mountains were on the other side?

They walked for an hour up the incline, and when Samantha squinted her eyes at the summit, she could barely see the Kneedlers’ cart in front of them. The two other carts in their small party were ahead of the Kneedlers.

Papa’s eyes roamed the desolate mountains around them, and he shook his head as he clutched his arm. “We have to catch up with the others.”

Samantha wanted to argue with her father, but she knew he was right. They couldn’t be left out here alone in these mountains. This
wilderness seemed too lonesome for even Indians to roam. They would be easy prey for another grizzly or a wolf.

Papa urged the oxen onward, and the animals huffed as they continued their climb. Surely Jack would stop and wait for them at the top. He would never leave their family behind.

Once they got to the other side of the mountain, the Doyle party moved much faster with their oxcarts. Horses were too difficult for them to ride through the forest, and it had become too cumbersome trying to move them up and down the steep paths in a timely manner—so they released their four remaining horses into the wilderness. Jack promised there would be plenty of horses where they were going, but Samantha knew how sad he was to say good-bye to his horse.

Her father had been acting strangely the past few days. He said his arm was healing, but his thinking wasn’t clear. He didn’t seem concerned about anything—leaving his palomino, their shortage of food and water, the cold that enveloped them at night. He didn’t even seem to care that they were almost there.

The traders had said to travel northwest through the Blue Mountains to find the Columbia River. Once they found this river, they could either find a few days’ respite at the Whitman Mission to the east, or they could go west to Fort Vancouver. Then they would move on to settle in the Willamette Valley.

Her family had a small bag of beans left in their cart, and some coffee. The dried fruit was gone now, along with all their wheat. Another ox had died on the trail, and the party divided that meat among them, but if they didn’t find the river soon....

Samantha found herself almost wishing that another grizzly bear would find them so they could kill him for the meat as well.
What she hoped most, though, was that Papa might be able to sleep in a mission tonight, a place with hot food, a warm fire, and strong medicine to help him get well. To help him remember his dream.

A gust of wind blasted over the hill, and Samantha shivered. She pulled the quilt tighter over her shoulders, trying to protect herself from the cold. Jack had guessed that they were a week away from Fort Vancouver now.

Once they arrived in the Willamette, she didn’t think she would ever eat another bean.

Micah shivered beside her. She reached out and pulled him under the quilt with her.

“There it is!” someone shouted, racing toward the edge of the cliff in front of them.

She stepped forward with Micah, looking over the canyon. Instead of leading to another mountain, the cliff sloped into a wide river with rock walls on both sides and a treed island in the middle.

The Columbia.

Samantha shielded her eyes with her hands, studying the river’s path until it curved into the bend. Then she began to cry. All they had to do now was follow the river west. Never again would they find themselves lost. This river would take them home.

The men secured the oxen away from the cliff, and Jack gathered their small party together. How he’d changed in the past month. He fit into his new role of captain like a worn boot. Jack may not have realized it, but he was a good leader.

“We need to vote,” he said as they circled around him. Jack allowed anyone eighteen and over to vote, including women. “How many want to go east, to the Whitman Mission?”

Samantha wanted to get to the Willamette as much as the rest of them, but they also needed food. And medicine for Papa and Mrs. Kneedler.

She was the only one who raised her hand. The others voted to press on to the Willamette, all except Papa. He didn’t vote at all.

Papa began muttering to himself, his arms trembling. She reached over and took his hand.

“It’s going to be all right,” she whispered, trying to pretend, as he had done the night the bear attacked him, that everything was fine.

Jack didn’t seem to hear her father’s mumbling. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Kneedler?”

Samantha looked back at the pale-gray color of the woman’s skin. Mrs. Kneedler managed a smile, but Samantha saw the blood caked on her gums.

“Don’t you worry about me,” Mrs. Kneedler said.

He eyed the terrain below them. “We’ll head west, then.”

The party plodded slowly forward along the cliff. Samantha’s feet felt as if they weighed a hundred pounds each, but she wouldn’t stop. They were so close to their new home, so close to helping Papa get well again.

They walked for hours that afternoon across the high cliffs until the terrain sloped low into a valley. Jack directed Miles Oxford to lead the group down the slope and then west until they found a clearing to camp for the night. Jack said he and the others would follow.

Wind gusted over the canyon, and Samantha shivered as she and Micah began to guide the oxen into the ravine. Behind her, Papa leaned on Jack, clutching his injured arm as they descended toward the river. Samantha knew Papa must be heavy, but they didn’t have any other choice. There was no other way for Papa to get down.

When she reached the bottom, Samantha turned around to look back up the trail. Papa was no longer walking. He was sitting on a rock instead.

“Wait here,” she told Micah. Then she rushed back up the canyon’s side.

“Hiram,” Jack said, tugging on Papa’s good arm, “you have to get up.”

She knelt down beside her father. “Papa, you can’t stay here.”

His throat was raspy. “I can’t move.”

Jack looked down at the canyon and then back up at the clouds building above them. When his eyes met hers, she saw the fear in them.

“I’ll help you,” Samantha said. She strung one arm around Papa, and Jack took the other.

Micah didn’t listen, but she didn’t scold him, either, when he joined them. Shivering, she and Jack began to carry her father down the hill, Micah trailing behind them. She hated that he had to hear Papa’s moans, hated that Papa was in such terrible pain.

The wind gusted up the canyon, and she shook again. They were so close to being at their new home. They couldn’t lose him.

“Only one more week, Papa. We’ll be at Fort Vancouver by then.”

Neither Papa nor Jack responded to her words. She looked over at Jack, urgency pressing against her even as it prompted her forward. “We need to go to the mission.”

“I—”

“No, Samantha,” Papa interrupted Jack. “My journey must end here.”

Chapter Twelve

By the time Jack and Samantha managed to carry Papa down to the river, the others, along with Jack’s cart, were so far in the distance that they looked like specks against a golden hill that bowed into the Columbia.

Jack eyed the sky again. “There’s going to be a storm.”

They lowered Papa to the ground, and she reached into their cart to retrieve their buffalo pelt, draping it over him. His eyes were closed, his breathing stilled. If he knew they were there, he didn’t acknowledge them. Her father, who always seemed to have an answer, no longer spoke.

She jostled his shoulder. “Wake up, Papa.”

“Samantha,” Jack said gently.

She ignored him, shaking Papa again. “You have to get up. We’re almost to the valley.”

“Samantha,” Jack implored her now.

She knelt beside her father. “There is plenty of land in the valley, Papa. We’re going to build a house and plant a farm. Remember your bags of seeds? You promised to surprise us.”

Micah took her hand. “Why isn’t he waking up?”

She blinked back the tears in her eyes. “He will. He just needs to rest.”

Jack put his hand over hers, gently lifting it off her father.

“We need to speak.” He glanced down at Micah, lowering his voice as if her brother couldn’t hear. “In private.”

She knew what he was going to say, and she didn’t want to hear it.

He didn’t know Papa and what a fighter he was. It may take a few days, but he would beat this infection. Hiram Waldron didn’t quit.

She looked up into Jack’s eyes, so full of concern. She looked away.

Didn’t he have faith? Papa was one of the strongest people she knew. He may be injured, but he wasn’t like the others who’d died on this journey. He would win this fight.

“I’ll be right back,” she told Micah, trying to keep her voice as light as she could. “You stay with Papa.”

He nodded as he inched closer to Papa. Boaz sat beside him.

Trees dotted the shoreline along the river. The strip of shore that bumped against the cliffs was about twenty feet wide. She looked at the tail end of the other carts traveling over the narrow path between the trees, and she knew right then that she was saying good-bye yet again.

Jack took both her hands in his. The strength of them should have filled her with hope, made her feel protected, but they terrified her instead. “We’re going to lose him, Samantha.”

She ripped her hands from his, wrapping her arms around her chest. She didn’t want to hear this. “You don’t know—”

He leaned in closer to her. “You have to stop fighting.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks.

“How do you do that, Jack?” Her entire body trembled. “How do you stop fighting for the people you love?”

He put his hand on her shoulder. “You let him go, Sam. To be with God and your mother.”

Something fell on her. She lifted her face to the sky, and everything within her seemed to cave.

The snow had come.

She shook away Jack’s hand, and he didn’t reach for her again.

“Micah recovered quickly from his fall,” she said. “He was walking again in two days.”

“No one recovers from rabies.”

Rabies?

The very words struck horror in her heart. “He doesn’t have rabies.”

His voice was resigned when he spoke again. “I’m responsible for our whole party.”