Where the Trail Ends: American Tapestries (16 page)

She choked out, “I will, Papa. Don’t worry.”

“Trust in God, Samantha. He’ll guide you on the right path.” He lay back on the ground, the shadow of a smile on his face as his gaze wandered to the top of their tent. “Do you see her?”

“Who?”

“Eliza.”

Samantha leaned against Boaz. And she wept.

Alex saw the Americans first. They were passengers on a bullboat made of willow poles and covered with a buffalo hide. Alex watched
as the Indian guide paddled the motley group toward them on the north bank of the Columbia. They looked more like half-starved animals than humans.

Alex stayed in the background as McLoughlin stepped forward, waiting to greet the newcomers. The governor and Madame had stayed away for almost a month, enjoying the last of the sunshine before the autumn rains poured.

The McLoughlins had returned last night, and this afternoon, Alex and McLoughlin had been walking along the banks, discussing what must be done with the school. McLoughlin was furious about Calvert’s departure, but he in no way planned to find him. He asked Alex to continue in his attempts to teach the children, and though Alex tried to convince him of his ineptitude as a teacher, McLoughlin wouldn’t hear of it. Alex could teach in the mornings and work on his inventory in the afternoon.

One of the Indians stepped onto the bank, and McLoughlin greeted him in Chinook. Alex attempted to greet them as well, but they ignored him. Clearly, they were here to see the White-Headed Eagle.

McLoughlin nodded at the passengers. “Where do you find them?”

“At The Great Dalles,” one of the Indians replied in English. “They ask me to bring them here.”

McLoughlin nodded. “Very good.”

An older man with determined eyes and a gaunt face stepped off the boat. His gaze was focused on McLoughlin as he rushed up the bank.

“Welcome,” McLoughlin said, shaking the man’s hand. “Are any of you injured?”

“No, but we are very hungry.”

Alex looked back at the raft. There were three men and a woman crowded into it, their faces muddy and their clothing soaked. Surely
their guides had helped them portage around the rapids instead of going over them.

“What is your name?” McLoughlin asked the man who stood beside him on the bank.

“Loewe.” He stood up a little straighter. “My name is Captain Ezra Loewe.”

“Where do you come from?”

“Originally from the Commonwealth of Virginia, but our wagon train left Missouri, at the beginning of May.”

McLoughlin motioned toward the hill behind the river. “We are on the way back to Fort Vancouver. We can feed you and your party there.”

The man reached out, stopping him. “There are more behind us.”

McLoughlin hesitated, as if he was afraid to ask. “How many more?”

Loewe swallowed, his voice not quite as strong. “Almost thirty.”

Alex stepped closer to the man, eyeing the few barrels on the raft. “Will your remaining supplies be arriving soon as well?”

Loewe shook his head. “We had to leave almost everything back in the mountains.”

Alex suppressed his groan.

Instead of chastising him, McLoughlin clapped the captain on the back. “We have plenty to share with you.”

The man sighed with relief.

Alex could almost imagine the letter Loewe would send to his friends and family back home.

Come to Oregon Country. The British will take good care of you.

Samantha woke at first light and slowly put the medicine bottles back into the box. Papa wouldn’t need them any longer. Micah slept as she put a blanket over her father’s face. Then she untied the flap on the tent.

Flakes of snow clung to the ground, but the sky was a crisp blue this morning. She wrapped Mama’s shawl around her shoulders, and as she prepared the morning fire, Boaz hurried up into the trees behind their tent.

She’d tried to help Papa, tried to save her entire family, but she had failed. Mama’s body rested back in Ohio, and now Papa’s remains would stay in this new country.

She glanced back at the tent where her brother still slept. She may have failed her parents, but she wouldn’t, she couldn’t, fail Micah. She’d promised Mama long ago and now she’d promised Papa that she’d keep him safe.

Maybe she should have sent him on with the others to Fort Vancouver. God forgive her if it was selfishness or even pride that had kept him here.

Twenty minutes later the coffee began to brew, but Boaz still hadn’t returned. She called his name as she squinted into the trees. In that moment, she couldn’t bear to think about losing her beloved dog on the same day she lost her father.

She sat on a log, her hands shaking as she poured herself a mug of black coffee. She had to press on, for Micah’s sake. There was no time to stop and mourn their loss. They would have to grieve later.

Something rustled in the grass, and she turned and saw Boaz, a brown rabbit in his jaws. When Boaz dropped the rabbit at her feet, she clung to his neck for a moment, grateful beyond words that he had returned to her. They were going to make it to Fort Vancouver and then on to the Willamette. And the three of them were going to make it together.

They could try to find the mission, but her heart wasn’t calling her east. It was calling her west, where Papa wanted them to go. Jack and the others would be traveling along the river. If she and Micah hurried, perhaps they could rejoin the other members of their party before nightfall.

She quickly cleaned the rabbit and cooked it in a stew. Then she woke her brother.

He stared at the blanket that covered Papa’s body. “Why won’t Papa wake up?” he asked.

She hesitated, breathing deeply before she spoke. “He went to be with Jesus.”

Micah sat quietly for a few moments. “Is he with Mama?”

She nodded.

His voice shook. “I should be happy for him, shouldn’t I?”

“I suppose we should.”

His eyes welled with tears. “But I’m not very happy at all.”

She pulled him close to her, and they grieved together at the loss of a man who’d loved them both, a man who’d left them a legacy of perseverance and strength. They would press on like Papa had done so many times.

She stood up beside him, offering her hand. “We’re going to finish this journey for him.”

Micah took her hand.

The stew tasted bland without vegetables or seasoning, but it was all they had. Micah didn’t complain about the meal, and she was long past caring much about taste, concerning herself more with sustenance. The rabbit would carry them through the day.

Her heart broke as she lifted Papa’s body from the tent, moving it carefully toward the cliff. They had no shovel to bury him with, so she and Micah gathered rocks and sticks from the banks of the river.

Her hands trembled again as she placed the first rock on the blanket that covered him. Micah added an armful of leaves.

They worked until the blanket was completely covered, and then she unpacked their Bible from the oxcart. She and Micah held hands as she read from it: “‘And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor
crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.’”

When she finished reading, she glanced down at her little brother. Then she wiped away the tears from his eyes.

Neither Mama nor Papa were in pain, but she and Micah... they were in a world of it.

Micah tugged on her hand. “Can you read Mama’s verse?”

She nodded, but she didn’t need to turn to the verse in Psalms. She’d quoted it often to Mama in the days before she died. “‘God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.’”

Her brother clung to her as they walked away from the grave. They needed His help. Desperately.

Chapter Fourteen

“On to Oregon,” Samantha said, with as much confidence as she could muster.

It had been their cry almost every morning since they’d left Missouri, and she wasn’t going to quit. Not until they found either their party or Fort Vancouver.

Micah held up the pole of his knapsack and repeated her words.

She turned one last time for a glimpse over her shoulder, but she could no longer see the ground where they’d laid her father to rest. His body was only a shell, his soul gone to a better place, but she still hated that she hadn’t been able to bury him in a grave.

Samantha held Micah’s hand as they followed Boaz along with Abe and George down the Columbia River. They had no choice but to keep moving forward. Papa had made it to Oregon just like he wanted, but the ending of his story wasn’t what any of them had anticipated. The trail ahead may have felt impossible, but she wouldn’t stop moving, nor would she stop fighting. She and Micah would carry his legacy into this new country.

When trouble, like a gloomy cloud,

Has gathered thick and thundered loud,

He near my soul has always stood—

His lovingkindness, O how good!

She sang the hymn softly as she walked. And then she prayed to the One who stood near her soul.

Please help me
...
help me get my brother to safety
.

There was little strength left in her, but she didn’t care what happened to her anymore. Her parents were gone, and even though she was no longer angry with Jack, she knew she could never marry him. It was too late for her to return to Ohio, at least until next spring, but perhaps she could find work with a family in the Willamette and Micah could attend school. She wouldn’t fail Mama again.

At this moment, with her feet screaming in pain and her belly aching for good food, she longed for the rhythm of a normal life. Perhaps she should have married Reginald and stayed in Ohio. If she had, Papa might not have left either...and he would still be alive.

She trudged behind the oxen across the soggy path. Her moccasins and ankles were covered in mud, the hem of her skirt torn and filthy. She clung to a tree as she inched around a wide puddle that looked more like a pond. Her hands covered with chips of bark and pine needles, she knelt down to the icy stream and rinsed them off.

Micah slogged through the mud puddle in his bare feet and trousers. There was no sense in trying to coax him around the water. They both looked more like hogs that had been rolling in their pens than two determined emigrants intent on starting a new life.

Hopefully Jack and the others weren’t too far down the path. Most of them had a bulky cart like she and Micah. If they walked fast enough, surely they could catch up to them.

The sunshine had melted the snow, and the farther they walked, the more spectacular the scenery became. Rock walls shot up on the left of the narrow path, the steep cliffs towering above them. Water tumbled down the cliffs and poured into rocky streams that dumped into the river.

Micah hopped over a log and then turned back to look at her. “I’m hungry.”

She ruffled his hair. “I know. Me too.”

He rubbed his stomach. “If you could eat anything you wanted, what would it be?”

She thought for a moment. “Hot corn with butter. Mama’s fried chicken. And lemonade.”

He smiled. “I’d eat ice cream.”

She laughed. “It’s too cold for ice cream.”

He looked at her as if she were crazy. “It’s never too cold for ice cream.”

“I suppose not.”

He hopped over another log. “Remember when Papa bought strawberry ice cream for us at the fair?”

She remembered it well. Mama’s health had rallied a year ago in July. Papa celebrated by treating them all to a day at their county fair, where they’d enjoyed the exhibits, animal shows, and foods she’d never seen in her entire life.

She’d never forget the taste of that ice cream. It had been a golden day—their time with both Mama and Papa, the sweet strawberries, the simple joy of eating something cold on a hot day—a day she’d taken for granted. She never could have dreamed that the following July they would be traversing rivers and walking hundreds of miles across the Great Plains, living on beans and dried meat. She never could have imagined heat like she’d experienced this summer, nor could she imagine tramping through cold, wet mud as they were today. And both of their parents gone.