Where the Trail Ends: American Tapestries (24 page)

Annabelle, Madame’s servant woman, stepped inside. Her dark brown hair was coiled at the nape of her neck, and she looked to be about ten years older than Samantha. “Doctor McLoughlin asked me to deliver something to you.”

“What is it?”

She held out a small piece of paper. “I believe it is some sort of letter.”

Samantha held out her hand, and the woman placed a letter addressed to Samantha in her palm. She opened it.

Please come visit me the moment you arrive in the valley. You won’t believe the news I have! I miss you dreadfully.

Lovingly yours,

Lucille

The letter fell into Samantha’s lap. Thank God, her friend had survived the journey.

She looked up at Annabelle. “Thank you for giving it to me.”

Annabelle turned to leave, but Samantha stopped her. “Have you seen Micah?”

She nodded. “He’s eating in the bachelor’s mess hall.”

Samantha’s heart sped up, the thought of her little brother among all those strangers making her shudder. “Is he safe?”

Annabelle laughed. “Unless he’s a bear or a beaver, he couldn’t be any safer.”

“Is Boaz with him?”

“I suppose.”

Samantha tried to relax.

Madame McLoughlin had told her that Micah somehow managed to recover from their journey without a single extra day in bed. A bath in the washhouse and a clean set of clothes seemed to be all he needed to integrate into this new life.

She took a deep breath. The people in the fort had taken good care of him while she was recovering, and Boaz would protect Micah as well. As long as he didn’t wander off alone, outside the palisades...

Annabelle wrung her hands together. “I almost forgot.”

“What is it?”

“Madame McLoughlin asks you to join her for the evening meal.”

“I would be delighted,” she said with a smile, and then her smile began to fade. “But I should eat with Micah.”

Annabelle smiled. “I’ll bring him a meal and stay until you return.”

She nodded, pleased at the idea of conversing with her hosts for the evening.

After Annabelle left, Samantha read Lucille’s written message again, wondering at her news. She missed Lucille dreadfully as well. She had been here for only a week, but loneliness poured over her like Oregon’s steady rain.

She glanced out the window again, at the double front gates through which people came and went all day. She may feel alone, but
Fort Vancouver was hardly a lonely place. Indians came through the gates as frequently as the French trappers, British gentlemen, and the laborers from places like the Sandwich Islands.

Then through the front gate walked a stunning Indian woman dressed in a light buckskin dress, and Samantha stared at her, surprised to see a woman among all the men. This woman’s light brown hair was braided, her skin a milky tan color. And she was smiling at the rugged man who’d walked through the front gate beside her.

Jack.

The woman was smiling at Jack, and he was smiling back at her. The worry that had creased his face for months was gone; he looked relaxed. It was the first time in a very long time that she’d seen Jack enjoying himself.

Both Jack and the woman carried large packs on their backs, and Samantha leaned closer to the window, watching the two of them as they stopped to speak with a laborer. When the man pointed toward the house, Samantha ducked behind the curtain. Over the past week, part of her had been anxious to see Jack, while another part had been worried about their reunion and what he expected of her. Clearly, he had moved on in his expectations.

She should feel jealousy at the sight of the man she’d once thought of marrying talking with such a lovely woman, but she felt happiness for him instead. And a new sense of freedom for herself. Jack had wanted her to trust him, but she realized now, with a terrible jolt, that she didn’t trust him. Perhaps she never had.

Not that he wasn’t an honorable man. He simply wasn’t the right man for her. She couldn’t trust him with her life or her heart, not after everything that had happened.

But maybe this woman would.

She brushed her hands over the buttons that lined the front of her dress, the ruffled burgundy dress Madame McLoughlin had
given her. No dirt stained it, no tears shredded it, and it was free of the permanent coating of dust that had settled over the dresses she’d worn on the trail. Her hair was pinned back in a neat knot, and she patted it gently.

The woman Jack had known was muddy, tired, and irritable. The woman he would see today was clean, rested, and smelled of rose water. Yet she doubted that how she looked or what she said to him would sway his feelings toward her. Nothing he said would change her mind either.

There was a knock at the door, and she took a deep breath before she told Jack to come inside. The door creaked open slowly, and he peeked his head through the doorway.

Brown stubble shadowed his face, and when he took off his dingy hat, his long hair was tangled over his collar. His eyes wore a look she didn’t recognize. Gone was the admiration she’d seen on the trail whenever he looked at her, back when she was streaked with dirt and her dress was torn. Gone was the man who’d made her laugh as he played his harmonica, the man who’d poured out his compassion when Micah was lost.

Instead, Jack Doyle looked at her as if she was a stranger.

Perhaps they really were strangers. She thought she knew Jack, but even after seven months of traveling together, perhaps she didn’t know him at all.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Much better.”

He untied his pack and lifted out a bundle wrapped in a burlap bag. “I found your cart.”

Her breath caught. “What did you bring?”

“Some clothes, a bag of your father’s seeds, your Bible and—”

She clapped. “
The Pilgrim’s Progress
?”

Frustration clouded his face. “No, I—”

“It’s all right, Jack.” She pulled the bundle toward her. Pulling out Mama’s wool shawl, she cradled it in her arms. “Thank you for bringing all this.”

“I wish I could have brought more.”

“It’s more than I ever expected to see again.”

He glanced back at the door, as if he was nervous to be alone with her. She pointed to the wooden chair across from her. “Please sit.”

His hands were clutched together as he sat, his gaze resting on his lap. When he spoke, his words were barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know what to do about your father. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

She reached out and patted his hand. “You did what you had to do. You were the leader.”

“The snow—” He looked up at her. “I thought it might snow for days.”

“You didn’t know it would turn to rain.”

He looked up at her. “I didn’t want him to die.”

She took a deep breath. “I know.”

“He’s buried now.”

Tears flooded her eyes, relief filling her that Jack had given her father a proper burial.

His gaze wandered out the window, to the lady waiting in the piazza.

Samantha dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and then joined Jack in gazing out the window. Men had gathered around the woman, talking to her, but they didn’t seem to worry her. Perhaps because Jack was nearby.

“She’s lovely.”

His gaze darted back to her. “Samantha—”

She lifted her finger to her lips, stopping him with the shake of her head. “You don’t need to explain.”

“Aliyah buried your father.”

She blinked. “Aliyah?”

He nodded. “She wanted to help you.”

She looked back out the window at the beautiful woman in the white dress. She looked like an angel. “This woman—I think she brought us food. And a blanket.”

He looked out the window again. “She had a son once—” He paused. “She wanted you and Micah to be safe.”

“Please tell her thank you.”

He nodded.

“I’m happy for you, Jack.”

He glanced back at her. “What?”

“She seems to be the perfect companion for you.”

He continued to stare at her. “We’re not—she’s not my companion.”

A smile played at Samantha’s lips. “But I think she might be someday.”

He sighed. “I meant for you and I to marry, Samantha, but—”

She stopped him. “You don’t have to explain.”

He stood and put his hands into the pockets of his long coat.

Samantha brushed her hands over the bundle in her lap. “Aliyah will help you to heal.”

He cleared his throat. “What are you and Micah going to do?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Perhaps you could come stay with us—with me.”

She shook her head. “That would never work.”

He walked toward the door and then turned back. “Did Hiram leave you some money?”

“He left us plenty,” she reassured him. She didn’t tell him that she’d lost all of it in the river.

“I wanted you to know...” he started and then hesitated.

“What?” she asked.

“I did not vote to kill the dogs.”

She caught her breath, surprise mixing with relief. Jack had stood up for what was right. “You only wanted me to trust you.”

He nodded. “One day you’ll love a man, Samantha. A man you will trust.”

She hoped he was right. One day she hoped to marry a man she trusted with her life and her heart.

He lingered a moment longer at the door, and she waved him forward. “Go, Jack.”

He put on his hat, tipping it toward her, and then he left.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she watched him walk into the courtyard, taking Aliyah’s arm to lead her away from her admirers. Samantha cried not because she wanted to marry Jack, but because everything was changing around her. She’d expected change, welcomed it, even, but she hadn’t expected to lose so much on their journey.

She had expected to build a new life, not to put back together the broken pieces of their old one.

She opened the bundle and brushed her hands over the Bible that had been in the Waldron family for more than a hundred years, reading the names of her ancestors on her father’s side.

Closing her eyes, she drifted back to the day that she, Papa, and Micah had left Missouri with the Loewe party. They’d packed everything so carefully in that wagon, full of anticipation and hope for the future. Papa was more alive than she’d ever seen him as they floated across that first river; Jack was confident as the newly elected lieutenant. Back then, she’d even trusted Captain Loewe’s confidence to guide their entire company safely to Oregon.

Now all the others were gone. Those who hadn’t lost their lives during the journey were off like Jack, preparing new homes for the future. Their wandering was finished, but her wandering was far from over.

What was she supposed to do without any money or a way to earn an income while she cared for Micah? Perhaps they would offer her a position in the kitchen or cleaning Bachelor’s Hall. She would work hard at whatever job they gave her. If she asked, perhaps they would let Micah attend school with the other children.

She glanced outside again. Alexander Clarke was greeting a group of trappers at the front gate of the fort. If anyone could help her, she guessed it would be Mr. Clarke, but he hadn’t visited her again.

She opened the Bible in her lap and found another verse Mama had liked Samantha to read to her when she was on her sick bed.

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.

She didn’t understand all that had happened. She didn’t know why she was here. But God had directed her and Micah’s path. He had led them here.

She would have to trust solely in the Lord.

Alex helped the trappers unload their heavy bales in the newly built warehouse. The trapping party would celebrate for a night or two before they headed back out to their camp. They had nearly forty thousand pounds of pelts to send with him when he returned to London, but the committee was anticipating at least sixty thousand. Alex hoped the other parties would return soon, before the ship came from England in the spring to collect the fur. He wanted to arrive in London victorious, the ship filled with the expected annual supply.

He imagined his uncle would plan a large gala to welcome his nephew home, but Alex was no fool. Those in attendance would be more interested in the arrival of the furs than in Alex’s arrival,
although they would feign interest because he was the president’s nephew.

Now he wasn’t sure exactly where home was—here in the Columbia District, or over at his uncle’s home on Grosvenor Square, or near London’s shipyards in the East End where he’d lived as a boy.

He stepped out of the warehouse and his gaze wandered to the white house again. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from wondering about Mrs. Waldron. She’d shown such courage in her willingness to journey so many miles, but he couldn’t seem to find the courage to walk back up those steps and politely knock on her door to inquire about her health.

But it was more than cowardice that stopped him. He feared himself and his growing admiration of this woman. Samantha Waldron was a lovely widow still mourning the loss of her husband. If he went to inquire about her again, it would seem as if he were taking a risky step toward breaking his promise of faithfulness to Judith.