Where the Trail Ends: American Tapestries (25 page)

The front door of the house opened, and Alex watched as a man strolled confidently outside. It was Jack Doyle.

Alex stepped forward as Doyle greeted an Indian woman at the side—the same woman who had directed Alex to Mrs. Waldron and Micah. Doyle took the woman’s elbow, and she went willingly with him toward the front gate.

“Doyle,” Alex called out, hurrying toward the man. “Where are you going?”

He turned quickly, releasing the elbow of the native woman. Alex saw fear in the woman’s eyes before Doyle whispered something to her. She nodded and then stepped outside the gate.

“Where are you going?” Alex repeated.

“To the Willamette.”

Alex pointed back at the house. “What about Mrs. Waldron and her son?”

Doyle eyed him curiously. “Micah?”

Alex nodded.

“Micah is her brother.”

Alex swallowed. “I thought her husband died on the trail.”

Doyle shook his head. “Their father died.”

Their father?

Alex blinked. “Where is her husband?”

“Samantha’s never been married.”

Alex swallowed hard. It made more sense. Samantha Waldron likely was as young as she looked—maybe nineteen or twenty—and yet she had shown such courage.

A sudden uneasiness prompted Alex forward. Miss Waldron couldn’t stay here.

“Are you taking them to the Willamette with you?”

Doyle shook his head. “Samantha doesn’t want to go with us—with me. I’m not going to fight her any longer.”

“You should fight harder.”

“Samantha will survive just fine without my help.”

“She must go with you,” Alex said. He sounded desperate now—and perhaps he was.

“Samantha doesn’t want me to take care of her.”

Alex looked at the woman standing by the double gates and saw the European in her. For a moment, he flashed back to a memory of his mother after his stepfather left them. She was never the same after the man who’d vowed to love her for life walked out the door and never returned. “Are you going to take care of her?” He gestured to the Indian woman.

“If she’ll have me.”

Alex leaned back against one of the palisades, crossing his arms. “The men here often marry Indian women and then leave them a few years later to marry others.”

“My first wife passed away a year after we married,” Doyle said. “When I marry again, it will be for life.”

Alex studied the man for a moment. He believed Doyle was telling the truth.

“Go with God,” Alex said.

Doyle nodded and then turned toward the Indian woman.

He never looked back.

Chapter Twenty-One

When the bell rang at six, Alex hung up his frock coat on a rack before he joined the other officers for the evening meal around McLoughlin’s table. He glanced through the open doorway in the hall, to the smaller dining table where Madame McLoughlin entertained her female guests. There were four ladies gathered with her, all of them native or mixed-blood wives of the officers.

Miss Waldron must be dining in her room again tonight.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Doyle’s revelation had shaken him this afternoon. He wasn’t exactly sure how to talk to Miss Waldron now that he knew she had never married. It shouldn’t make a difference to him, but for some reason it did.

The large dining room was in the middle of the house. A hallway led from the front door to the dining room and then spread out like a
T
to reach the bedrooms and both parlors. Miss Waldron’s room was located off the left hallway, but he dared not even glance that direction for fear of seeing her.

McLoughlin motioned him to a seat beside an empty chair. Candlelight flickered on the white-and-blue Queen’s Ware and reflected off the silver. Before him were platters of venison, chopped greens, and fried potatoes.

He greeted the man across from him as he sat down. When he glanced up again, all the men’s heads were turned, looking to his left.

Miss Waldron stood at the arched entryway in a burgundy dress, her hair dangling in neat curls on both sides of her head. She smiled
boldly at the men and then strolled to the empty seat beside Alex. When he didn’t stand, she pulled the chair out herself and sat down.

All the men looked at McLoughlin, and Alex’s mouth gaped like the rest of theirs. Never before had they entertained a woman at this table.

He cleared his throat and then whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“Madame McLoughlin invited me to dinner,” she replied, not even bothering to dip her voice to match his.

“But—” he started.

“Welcome,” McLoughlin said, an amused smile on his face. “We’re glad to have you.”

Several of the men bobbed their heads in agreement.

She glanced around the table. “Where is your wife?”

“She’s eating in the other dining room.”

Miss Waldron looked at Alex and then back at McLoughlin. “Other dining room?”

“We spend our dinners talking business,” Alex said. “The women become bored.”

She looked confused. “Why would business bore them?”

Alex did not have an answer. He had always assumed that Madame McLoughlin and the other women chose to separate themselves to discuss whatever it was that woman liked to talk about. Back in London, men and women ate together at dinner and then separated after the meal, but here in the Columbia District, business and social gatherings were conducted differently.

Before the governor spoke, Miss Waldron pushed back her chair as ribbons of red streaked up her cheeks. “Am I in the wrong place?”

McLoughlin shook his head. “Stay with us,” he insisted. “We would like to hear your stories.”

Alex stood up and scooted her chair back under the table.

“I’m not sure I have much to say.”

“Tell us about your journey,” McLoughlin prompted.

And so she did. She told them about the lightning storms over the plains, the clouds of mosquitoes that almost carried them away, the deaths of her friends and then of her father on the trail. She told them stories about Indians who’d tried to trade for her, the springs of soda they’d found bubbling up from the earth, the Hudson’s Bay Company traders who charged forty dollars for a barrel of flour at Fort Hall. She told them about the captain who wanted to kill their dogs and about the grizzly that had attacked their camp.

“What happened to the bear?” Alex asked.

She took a long sip of water before she spoke again. “I shot it in the head.”

Murmurs rippled like waves across the dining hall, and she managed a bite of food before the men began pestering her with questions. Yes, she had walked the entire way. They had cut their wagons into carts to cross the Blue Mountains and then abandoned their carts altogether to walk through the gorge. Yes, she had traveled the last week without any assistance from men, although an Indian woman had brought them food. No, she didn’t regret coming to this place she called Oregon, but she deeply regretted the loss of her father on the trail.

Alex listened to her stories, in awe like the other officers.

“Were you not afraid?” he asked after the other men began talking.

“Terrified.”

“You took incredible risks.”

“Sometimes risk is foolish, I suppose.” She paused. “But sometimes it is faith.”

Madame McLoughlin never entered the Fur Shop, so when Alex watched her walk into the warehouse so late in the evening, fear gripped him. The men stopped their work for a moment, seemingly paralyzed at the unprecedented visit of the governor’s wife. Then they all began working harder.

Madame scanned the room, which was crowded with piles of cheap furs on the floor and more valuable pelts hanging from beams. When she found Alex, she motioned him forward with one hand.

Had something happened to Doctor McLoughlin...or to Miss Waldron? He put down the daybook and rushed toward her. Hopefully no one was injured—and hopefully there were no more Americans at their doorstep.

“Good evening, Madame,” he greeted her. “May I assist you with something?”

She clutched her hands together, her plump cheeks forged into a smile. “I have the best news.”

He glanced around the room. The trappers might be pretending to work, but he knew they were listening. The best news to a woman might be the worst news to his men.

He directed her to the door, and they stepped onto the dirt walkway. “What is it?”

Oil lanterns flickered above them, the light illuminating the wide lines of Madame’s smile. She clapped again. “I’ve found a teacher for the children.”

He blinked, wondering why this news prompted her to personally deliver it at such a late hour, but he was glad that the children would have someone instructing them. “That is splendid indeed,” he replied. “Where did you find him?”

Her eyes twinkled. “It’s not a
him
.”

He paused, his gaze wandering to the big house. How was he supposed to respond? He knew exactly what she was going to say,
but many in their company wouldn’t be pleased at the notion of a woman—and an American—teaching their children. And he didn’t want to subject Miss Waldron to a room full of ruffians, either. “You didn’t offer Miss Waldron the position, did you?”

“Of course not. I knew she’d be reluctant to take it.”

“She is a wise woman.”

“That’s not wisdom, Alexander. It’s nonsense. She is educated, and she takes excellent care of her brother.”

“But he is well beha—”

Her eyebrows climbed, and he stopped his words. It would be a poor choice to insult the children in front of the governor’s wife.

She continued. “You must persuade her to take this position.”

“Me? She will not to listen to me.”

“Of course she will. You’re the one who rescued her from the river.”

“And now you want me to use my influence to manipulate her—”

She stopped him. “Miss Waldron needs a position, and we desperately need a respectable teacher. I hardly think we are manipulating her.”

“What did your husband say about this idea?”

Her smile dimmed a bit. “I’m going to need your help in convincing him as well.”

After Miss Waldron’s performance at dinner earlier that evening, it probably wouldn’t be difficult. “I shall speak with your husband.”

She nodded. “You won’t regret it.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

A Canadian man named Louie—or was it Huey?—stepped into Samantha’s room. He was an inch taller than her, and though he looked to be only a year or two older than she, he had a sandy-colored beard that draped over his collar. In his hands he held a bunch of wildflowers and colorful leaves.

She glanced at the bouquet. “Where did you find such pretty flowers this time of year?”

He shrugged, tossing the flowers toward her, and she added them to a vase full of flowers already on her bedside table.

“Thank you.”

He leaned back against the door frame. “I’m wondering if you’d like to marry me.”

She coughed, turning quickly to straighten the flowers. Back in Ohio, men and women courted for months and sometimes years before they spoke of marriage, but here it seemed to be acceptable to propose upon first meeting.

“I don’t believe I’m ready to consider marriage at this time,” she said as politely as possible.

He gave a slight bow and rushed out of the house without another word.

Samantha smiled as she arranged the flowers in the vase that Madame had loaned her. His was the third bouquet she’d received since she had taken dinner with Doctor McLoughlin and his officers last night. Several suitors back in Ohio had brought her flowers, but
here the men kept knocking on her door all day, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it.

She couldn’t keep the men’s names or nationalities straight. They were from around the world, and many of them hinted that they were ready to begin their travels again with a wife. Others said they wanted to settle at the fort and start a family. Some, like Louie, even stated outright that they wanted to marry her.

She tried to respect each of the men and their offers. Plenty of people married out of necessity, back in the United States as well as here, and sometimes she wondered what was wrong with her. She could simply take one of the proposals and marry, for Micah’s sake if nothing else. But she couldn’t bring herself to marry a man for mere convenience. She wanted to love her husband, like Mama had loved Papa.

She prayed that she would never be so desperate that she’d have to marry a man she didn’t love.

She arranged the autumn blooms and sat back on her chair. Peace seemed to settle over the room as she savored the aroma of the flowers. If only her heart was at peace as well.

She had never imagined being in Oregon without Papa. Now she’d not only lost him, but she’d lost her means to provide for Micah and herself. Every morsel of food they ate and every stitch of clothing they wore were provided by the McLoughlins. And she had no prospect of ever repaying their generosity.

Micah bounded into the room. “Can Pierre and I go to the gardens?”

“Who’s Pierre?”

He sighed. “My new friend.”

“Why isn’t Pierre in school?”

Micah shrugged. “He said the teacher ran away.”