Where the Trail Ends: American Tapestries (19 page)

Doctor Barclay also said that Mrs. Kneedler had arrived just in time. Another few days without the garden food and her symptoms would have proved fatal.

Jack clung to the poster on the bed as he tried to step forward. He’d already been in bed for at least two days, and when he woke each
morning, he promised himself he would find the Waldron family that very day. Unfortunately his body didn’t concur with his determination. Even though he insisted he was ready, Doctor McLoughlin refused him the use of any of their boats until he was well enough to walk down to the wharf on his own.

He took a step. Today he would go back across the river and search for Samantha and her family.

He walked slowly out of Bachelor’s Hall and surveyed the dozens of buildings in the enclave around him. The fort looked like a village, with its wooden two-story buildings clustered together and the long hall behind him. The red-and-blue Union Flag flew over a long piazza that stretched out in the middle of the buildings. There was a tall three-legged belfry and a fancy white-painted house to the right. One of the buildings was made of brick and stone, and at the corner of the fort was a tall wooden bastion.

He asked a man for the location of the mess hall, and the man pointed him to the last door of Bachelor’s Hall. When Jack opened it, he smelled the aroma of sausage. He took a plate of sausage and potato cakes gratefully. The food didn’t remain long on his plate.

Alexander Clarke strolled up to him, the man Doctor McLoughlin told him was second in command.

“Your health is improving,” Alex said.

Jack nodded. “I’m leaving today.”

Alex studied him for a moment, like he was trying to determine the true state of Jack’s health. “I’m going to visit one of our fur parties this morning. On the other south side of the Columbia.”

Jack’s heart sped up. “May I join you?”

“McLoughlin does not think you are well enough to travel.”

“I can assure you that I’m much better than the people we left behind.”

“I leave in an hour,” Alex said. “We will spend the night with a
trapping party on the other side of the river, and if you are well in the morning, you can continue on your search.”

“I’ll be well enough.” Jack glanced around the room at all the men of mixed blood mingling among the British men. “Aren’t you afraid of having Indians live with you?”

Alex’s eyebrows slid up. “Why would I be afraid of them?”

He shrugged. “They may hurt you.”

Alex shook his head. “We are not afraid of Indians in the West, my friend. They rely on our supplies at the trading posts, and we rely on the pelts they bring in to trade.”

Jack scanned the mess hall one more time, at those with dark, light, and tan skin laughing together.

Perhaps he didn’t have to fear them either.

The gorge’s looming cliffs had tapered into rolling hills and then flat land with bald eagles circling and screeching above them. Towering to their south was a majestic snow-covered peak that climbed into the heavens, and Samantha assumed it was the volcano the trappers had called the White Giant. Mount Hood.

The mountains in this new territory weren’t like those they’d passed on the trip. The mountains they’d passed a thousand miles ago were clustered together along the edge of the path, forming a valley down the middle of them. The white peaks in this country were more pronounced, rising to triumph over this unspoiled land in bold declaration that they’d conquered it first.

Samantha didn’t know who was helping them along their way, but whoever was following them brought them exactly what she and Micah needed. Like when God sent manna to the Israelites, their messenger was bringing them just enough food to sustain them each day.

She’d attempted to fish with their hooks to no avail, but two nights back, she’d wrapped a few of their fishhooks in a leaf and left it beside her as she slept. Her gift was gone in the morning, and last night, their guardian angel left them two salmon to roast.

There were only enough beans in her pack for one more meal. She and Micah had already drunk all the coffee as they struggled to stay alert during this final stretch. She didn’t know how much longer they had to walk until they reached the end of this trail, but she wouldn’t stop now. Her strength had been renewed with the food.

The animal fur was draped over Micah’s head and tucked around his body. A piece of canvas hung over her cape in an attempt to ward off the rain, but even when the water drenched her face and dress, she hardly noticed the wet any longer. It was part of their journey now, like her torn clothing and muddy skin, like the hunger pangs that gnawed at her gut.

A small band of darker clouds clustered over the ridge ahead of them. They’d seemed to leave the fierce thunderstorms back on the plains, but there would be no escaping any storm that raged through this valley.

Micah held her hand as they walked, and she didn’t let go. They’d left Papa five days ago now. They had to be close to the trail’s end.

If she could just get Micah across the river to Fort Vancouver. The British may not want them there, but surely they would help her and her brother, like the traders helped their company at Fort Hall. She would pay them, of course, for food and lodging with Papa’s gold. Just until she could find a way to build a home for her and Micah.

And she would build a home here. Now that they were in Oregon, she wouldn’t return east. She would do what Papa had desired—what she had once desired as well—and settle in this new country. She and Micah would be all right.

Across the river, smoke curled into the sky, and her heart began
to race as she watched it. The smoke could be from another Indian village. Or it could be...

Her heart raced faster.

Had they reached Fort Vancouver?

She leaned down, picking up her brother. As hungry and tired as she was, she was afraid it was a mirage. “Do you see it?”

He scanned the shore on the other side of the river. “It looks like a town.”

Her heart lightened. “I think so too.”

She scanned the riverfront and the island that stretched between her and the far bank. There were no rapids in this stretch of the Columbia, but the river was much too wide and the current too strong to cross without a boat or a raft. If she still had their ax, she could attempt to build one, but she carried her rifle instead of tools.

As Micah slipped down to the edge of the river, she sat on a smooth rock. Boaz rested at her feet, and she stared at the wide gulf between them and what she hoped was Fort Vancouver. Pulling her knees to her chest, her body rebelled against her. She had walked two thousand miles now, up mountains and across canyons, through streams and down hills so steep she’d needed a rope to keep her from sliding to the bottom.

They’d battled the winds on the plains, negotiated with Indians, battled the bear, lost Papa, Gerty Morrison, Amanda Perkins, the Perkins’ baby, and whoever had been buried back in the Blues.

She’d been more hungry and thirsty than she had ever imagined she could be, more wet and cold than she’d thought possible to survive. They’d crossed countless rivers and streams, and now they had one last river crossing.

But she didn’t know how to get them to the other side.

After seven months of traveling, the Columbia was all that separated them from a hearty fire and a roof, from hot food and dry
clothes and a warm room to sleep in. How she wanted to sleep in a real bed tonight. The journey wouldn’t be truly over, not until they reached the Willamette, but if they could rest at this fort and replenish their supplies, they could make it to the valley before winter.

The dark clouds were drawing closer. Any second now, the skies would open up and release their fury, and they would have no choice but to endure this storm like they’d done with the many storms before it.

“Samantha,” Micah called from the riverside, motioning for her to join him.

She looked up. “What is it?”

“I found something.”

“Not now—”

Micah rushed to her side, tugging on her hand. “Come and see it.”

She didn’t want to move, but he seemed so excited about his find. Slowly she moved her sore feet to the ground, breathing deeply. His fingers clutched her hand, and his gentle urgency propelled her forward. She rose and stumbled toward the tall grasses and mounds of volcanic rock at the water’s edge.

Micah pushed back the grass, and hidden below, along the shoreline, were two boats—one a birch-bark canoe and the other a bateau. She stared at the boats in shock.

Had their guardian angel somehow managed to hide boats for them as well?

Micah helped her flip the canoe and then he lifted out a paddle, holding it up with a grin, as if he’d found a pot of gold. “I can be Noah.”

She tilted her head. “Who am I?”

“A giraffe.”

She clapped her hands together. “Just what I wanted to be.”

He pretended to dip his paddle into the water, excited about the ride. Even after all these miles, he was still enthusiastic about their
journey, the way she had been months ago when everything seemed like a grand adventure, back when she thought Papa would get her safely to the Willamette and she and Jack would work together to build a home of their own.

She eyed the long bateau and its polished oars. With its flat bottom, the bateau might be less likely to tip on the ride over, but she’d never been in one before. Of course, she’d only ridden in a canoe twice, on the pond back home, but at least she knew how to paddle.

Her muscles may be aching, but she would get them across this river. Then she would rest. If their angel hadn’t brought the boats, perhaps someone from the fort could help her return it to the shore.

She set her pack on the sand and pointed at Micah’s knapsack. “Let’s strap that on your back so you don’t lose it.”

“What about my bedroll?”

“Just set it on the bottom of the boat.”

Micah eyed her pack. “Can I help you carry something across the river?”

“You have enough to carry—”

He interrupted her. “Papa told me to help you.”

She sighed. “Why don’t you get Papa’s seeds?”

After she secured her gun on her back, she checked the possibles bag at her side to make sure it was cinched shut. She glanced up at the dark sky and then back down at Micah, who was rifling through her bag. “You’ll have to get the seeds later.”

His blue eyes grew wide. “But—”

She shook her head. “We need to go.”

She quickly secured the cords so that Micah’s knapsack would stay on his back, and then he handed her a paddle. Boaz hesitated, but she coaxed him into the center of the boat, praying he would keep still. With God’s help, she could get all of them safely across the river.

Micah climbed into the boat as she set her bag on the bottom.
Then she took off the moccasin from her left foot. Balancing with the oar, she pushed the boat out into the river, her toes and calf stinging from the chill. Then she carefully stepped back into the canoe.

A raindrop fell on her face, and she brushed it off. If they hurried...surely, they could make it across the river before the storm.

Lifting her paddle, she prepared to row them away from the shore. But then another raindrop followed, and then another. She looked up at the black clouds hovering above them. The downpour hadn’t started yet, but it would soon, probably followed by wind funneling through the gorge.

Sighing, she put her paddle down. As much as she longed to be inside the dry walls of the fort tonight, sipping a hot cup of tea or soup, as much as she didn’t want to disappoint Micah, it was just too dangerous to cross the river in a storm. The hot soup and dry bed would have to wait. They would wait under the shelter of the trees until the rain passed.

She slowly eased her left leg over the side of the canoe again, preparing to stand, when something snarled behind her. The hairs on her arms prickled at the same time Boaz’s back arched. Then Boaz growled at the trees.

Samantha swung her gun around her as she turned. An animal was perched on a rock, snarling, twenty yards from them, but she didn’t know what kind. Its coat was a dark brown color and it was smaller than a bear, but the sound it made was just as terrible.

She pointed her gun.

Memories of the grizzly attack rushed back to her. The chaos and gunshots. The gash on Papa’s arm. This animal may not be as big as that bear, but it seemed just as angry.

The thought of killing it sickened her for only a moment. She would kill this animal if she had to, to protect her brother. But if the animal charged and she missed, there would be no time to reload.

She kept her eyes on the animal, her gun propped onto her shoulder. “Stay in the boat, Micah.”

“What is it?” His voice trembled.

“I don’t know.”

The animal sprang off the rock, raging toward them. She took one shot and then tossed her gun into the canoe. Grabbing her paddle, she pushed the canoe away from the shore.

The animal splashed behind them, but she didn’t turn around. With every stroke, she prayed that God would get them safely to the other side.