Where the Trail Ends: American Tapestries (26 page)

Where could one possibly run to around here?

She stepped to the window and saw dozens of people milling in the piazza on this Friday morning. All day long they went in and out of the wide gates, trading furs and working the land outside. The gardens, Madame had told her, were on the north side of the tall palisades that fenced in Fort Vancouver and kept her and Micah safe.

She shook her head. “I don’t want you to go outside the fort.”

“We won’t go alone,” Micah said before he blew his long hair out of his eyes. “The cook said she would take us. She has to pick beets for supper.”

Panic surged through her. What if he wandered off like he had on the trail and got lost in the wilderness? What if an Indian stole him? What if another wild animal, like the strange one on the river, threatened him?

There were too many unknowns in this new land. “You need to stay inside the gates.”

“But Sam—”

“After what happened on the trail—”

Someone cleared his throat by the door, and she looked up at Mr. Clarke. “He’ll be fine.”

“Alex!” Micah shouted, running to him.

“It’s Mr. Clarke,” she said, correcting her brother before addressing the man in the doorway. “I’m sorry. We called most of the men in our wagon party by their first names.”

Mr. Clarke smiled, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I am not offended.”

Micah turned back to her. “Alex says I’ll be fine.”

She stepped toward him. “I don’t mean any disrespect, sir, but little has been ‘
fine
’ in this wilderness. If something happened to Micah...”

She couldn’t bear to think what would happen if her brother wandered off again.

“He is not going into the wilderness. He will be visiting the governor’s personal gardens.” Mr. Clarke smiled. “The only animals that venture into the garden are deer and rabbits, and when they do, they end up on our dinner plates.”

She studied the gentleman in front of her, the man who had risked his life to rescue them. Surely he wouldn’t let Micah do anything that would endanger him further.

“Are you certain?”

“Nothing is certain, Miss Waldron, but it is just as safe in the gardens as it is inside these walls.”

“Please—” her brother begged again.

Her gaze traveled back out the window. She had assumed they were safe in the fort, but there was probably nowhere in this wilderness that was completely safe. Neither of her parents would want her to keep Micah trapped inside these walls forever.

“Would you feel more comfortable if I took them?” Mr. Clarke asked.

She searched his face for a moment. “You don’t mind?”

“I would be honored to do it.”

She knelt beside her brother. “You stay with Mr. Clarke and the cook.”

He crossed his fingers over his heart. “I will.”

“And come tell me when you return.”

“Would you wait for me outside?” Mr. Clarke asked Micah. “I must speak for a moment with your sister.”

Micah nodded and stepped toward the door. Then he turned. “Are you married, Mr. Clarke?”

Samantha glared at her brother.

“Not yet, but I will marry when I return to London next year.”

“Who are you marrying?”

Alex shifted on his feet. “A woman named Lady Judith Heggs.”

“Are you certain?”

Alex’s smile seemed forced. “You had better hurry along, or Cook will pick the beets before we get there.”

Samantha stared at the empty doorway, talking more to herself than to the man in front of her. “He doesn’t even like beets.”

Alex laughed. “Did they not tell you that everything tastes better here?”

“That’s what Madame McLoughlin said.” Sighing, she slipped into her chair. “We were told a lot of things about Oregon.”

“I realize that much of it is exaggerated, but one cannot find better food.” He glanced around the room and chuckled. “Or flowers.”

“Where are the men getting them?”

“Some flowers grow wild until winter, but the men are likely hiring children to take them from McLoughlin’s garden.”

“Will Madame be upset?”

“She may pretend to be upset, but she will probably be amused.”

He pulled the second chair toward him and sat across from her. She tried to read the expression on his face. Hesitation. Distrust. Perhaps someone had sent him to tell her that she’d relied on the McLoughlins’ hospitality long enough and it was time to leave. Or that she’d embarrassed all of them at the dining table.

She wrung her hands. She knew it was time for her and Micah to find a place to live on their own, but they no longer had even a sliver of canvas to sleep under. Nor a penny to spend. All that was left from their cart was what Jack brought them, the Noah’s Ark pieces, and her brother’s clothes.

She blinked. Mr. Clarke had referred to her as Micah’s sister.

“How did you find out Micah was my brother?”

“Jack Doyle told me.” Mr. Clarke leaned forward, his piercing eyes studying her. “Miss Waldron, I am here with a proposition.”

Her thoughts seemed to collide in her head. Now that he knew
she wasn’t recently widowed, was he going to propose marriage as well?

That didn’t seem right. He’d just told Micah he was engaged to marry another.

She sat up straighter. “What is your proposition?”

“Until several months ago, we had a teacher for our children, a British man by the name of Warren Calvert. He was here on a temporary basis until our new teacher arrived from London.”

She listened slowly, trying to process his words. What did this have to do with his proposition? “Micah said their teacher ran away.”

“He is correct. Calvert decided he was not keen on life inside our fort.”

“The poor children.”

“Right.” Mr. Clarke cleared his throat. “Doctor McLoughlin places a high value on educating our children, but no one here is, uh, qualified to teach.”

“Qualified—or willing?” she asked.

He sighed. “Certainly not willing, and likely not qualified either.”

She reflected on his words. “What is your proposition, Mr. Clarke?”

“We wondered—” He cleared his throat. “Would you teach our children until our new teacher arrives?”

She glanced out the window again. “When will the ship arrive?”

“Sometime this spring.”

If she did teach these children, she and Micah could continue to live on their own, at least until the new teacher assumed his position. She could provide for them instead of relying on the gracious hospitality of their hosts.

“How many children?”

“Twenty-three,” he replied. “Ages five to fifteen.”

She took a deep breath. It was one thing to care for her brother but quite another to teach twenty-three children in one room. But if
she didn’t want to marry soon, she really had no other good option. She would have to learn how to teach.

“It will be a difficult position for anyone, especially for—” He stopped abruptly and cleared his throat.

“You don’t approve of my teaching?”

He shook his head. “I have never seen you teach.”

She didn’t tell him that she never had. She’d taught Micah plenty the past few years, but she’d never taught in a classroom. “Do you disapprove of me because I’m an American or because I’m a woman?”

“I do not disapprove of you personally, Miss Waldron. These children are an unruly group. I do think we need a man to temper them before any teaching is done. We have had so many teachers...”

A slight smile crept up her lips. “‘Unruly’ doesn’t frighten me.”

“I wonder, Miss Waldron,” He leaned toward her. “What does frighten you?”

She glanced out the window, at Micah and his friend walking away from her. “Losing someone else I love.”

He cleared his throat.

She turned back to the man whom she hoped was becoming a friend to her. “Please call me Samantha.”

Mr. Clarke edged forward on his seat. “The McLoughlins have personally requested that you consider this position and that you continue living in their house. The company will provide you and Micah with board and a small stipend in the form of credit at the Sale Shop.”

“Could—” she started, almost afraid to ask for something else when he’d already offered so much. “Could Micah attend the school as well?”

“Of course.”

She took a deep breath. Perhaps it would be good to spend the winter here before settling near the Kneedlers and Lucille and the others. “I would like to go to the Willamette in the spring, even if the ship hasn’t arrived.”

He smiled politely. “You will teach until then?”

She nodded. “I’ll teach them.”

He stood up, his hat in his hand. “Thank you, Miss Waldron.”

“Samantha,” she whispered as he walked out the door.

Micah and Pierre ran toward the back gate of the fort and Alex walked slowly behind them carrying a large willow basket for the elderly cook. No one seemed to know her real name, but she was a heavyset, mixed-blood woman who had cooked for the McLoughlins since the governor took over the post at Fort Vancouver. Her limp was pronounced, yet she didn’t complain during their short walk. It was good for her, he supposed, to spend some time outdoors.

“Do they know they’re both orphans?” she asked, nodding toward the boys.

“I’m not sure.”

“A sad story, that one,” she said, her eyes focused on Pierre.

“Indeed.” Alex had known Pierre’s father, a loud Frenchman who could entertain entire trading parties with stories of his adventures—until one of his adventures took his life. Pierre’s mother had died when he was born.

Sadness flooded every orphan’s story, but at least Micah had a sister who cared deeply for him. Miss Waldron would protect him from those who might want to cause him harm.

Cook carefully limped around a rut in their path. “Yet he doesn’t stop, does he?”

Alex laughed. “Just like you.”

She clucked her tongue. “No old leg is going to stop me.”

A light wind brushed over them as they stepped outside
the fort and walked toward the McLoughlins’ neatly planted kitchen garden.

Sprawling to their west were barns, an orchard, fences that harbored the fort’s livestock, and seven hundred acres of grain and vegetables. To the east, beyond the kitchen garden, lay miles of forest that stretched toward the gorge.

The fertile land outside the fort was bulging with bounty all year. He didn’t know the names of most of the plants ahead of them, but he had the deepest appreciation for the way Cook prepared them for dinner.

He would miss the clear air and fresh food when he went back to London. He’d miss the reliance they each had on the land to provide for them. He’d miss McLoughlin, Simon, and the other men he’d befriended over the years.

And he’d miss Samantha Waldron.

He swallowed hard, shocked by his thought. How could he miss her? He’d only just met her. He admired Miss Waldron—that was all—admired the way she cared for her brother. Admired her passion and strength and the way she didn’t seem to concern herself with conforming to society’s mold.

Micah grabbed his hand, dragging him forward. “Come look at this.”

He glanced down at the boy’s hand, feeling quite awkward. He’d seen plenty of the fort’s women holding the hands of their children, but he didn’t know what to do now that one had taken his hand.

Cook urged him on. “Go with him.”

He cleared his throat. “What is it that you would like to see?” he asked the boy.

Micah tugged again. “It’s a surprise.”

The cook laughed as Micah pulled him past a gazebo and between raised wooden beds that flourished with leaves in a variety of shades and shapes.

At the end of one of the rows, Micah stopped him and pointed at what looked like lettuce. Three mollusks had crawled onto a leaf, white slime stretched in sticky threads behind them along with a trail of holes bearing evidence of their feast.

Micah’s eyes were wide as he watched them. He looked up at Alex. “What are these?”

“Mollusks.”

Pierre rolled his eyes. “They’re slugs.”

Alex thought about correcting the child, and then the thought amused him. Thankfully he no longer was responsible for educating the children. Pierre could call them slugs if he wanted to.

The cook yelped over his shoulder.

At first Alex thought the woman might run away, but she plucked one of the mollusks off the leaf and hobbled with commendable speed to the forest. Then she came back to dispose of the other two.

As she worked, the boys raced through the beds, searching for more slugs along with toads and snakes, and Alex laughed as he watched them play. Micah reminded him a bit of himself when he was seven—except there had been no gardens where he lived.

As a child, Alex had spent his afternoons exploring the London’s docks, wondering what exotic places the ships had visited and where they would be going next. The sailors hadn’t liked children playing at the docks, so he often hid behind barrels or crates to watch the ships. At the time, he was certain he would be a sailor when he grew up.

His uncle quickly put an end to the idea of his sailing—that is, until Alex boarded a ship for Fort Vancouver. He hadn’t enjoyed the actual journey nearly as much as he’d anticipated, but he had enjoyed exploring this untamed land. He’d always yearned for adventure, he supposed.