Where the Trail Ends: American Tapestries (27 page)

Pierre leaned down and picked up a red frog with black spots, the creature squirming to flee from its captor. The boys
examined the frog with wonder. And Alex watched the children with wonder as well.

Micah knelt down by a plant. “What is this?”

Alex shook his head. “I have no idea.”

Micah looked back at up at him. “Papa left us seeds to plant.”

“Do you miss your papa?”

Micah nodded slowly. “I was going to help him farm.”

“You would make a good farmer.”

Micah grinned. “So would you.”

Alex laughed. “I do not know the first thing about farming.”

Micah’s grin grew serious, and he knelt by one of the garden beds. “You dig a hole, like this.” He pushed the dirt away to make a hole. “And you put a seed in it.”

Alex tried to match the solemnity in Micah’s face. “And it just grows?”

Micah shook his head. “It needs lots of sun and water.”

“We certainly have enough water around here. I am not as confident about our sunshine.”

Micah glanced across the gardens. “But look at all the plants.”

“I suppose we do have enough sun then.”

The land was fertile enough, but Alex knew there was plenty of skill involved in farming. Yet Tom Kneedler and other Americans managed to grow food when they had never done it before. Kneedler even claimed to have harvested a good crop over the summer.

What would it be like to farm this land? To grow wheat, corn, carrots—even cherry and apple trees out of a bag of seeds?

He shook his head. It was pointless to dream about the possibilities.

But still he was curious about how well the Americans were faring as they farmed the Willamette. Before he left for London, perhaps he could see for himself what drove the Americans to this valley.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Samantha sorted and then rearranged the items Mr. Calvert had left on the desk. There was a small box of chalk, an eraser, five books, a quill pen, and a brass inkstand. There was also a tablet filled with scribbled notes, but the handwriting was so sloppy that she couldn’t read it.

It was still twenty minutes before the students were expected to arrive, at half past the six o’clock morning bell. Alex said she would teach for two hours and then breakfast with the children in the mess hall before returning to the classroom.

As she waited, she thought again about the things she’d like to teach the older children in particular. If they were already well-schooled in their addition and subtraction and Murray’s grammar, they could progress to multiplication and division. The younger children, she would teach how to read.

Rain beat against the windows, and a fire burned in the stove to warm the room. Micah sat quietly in the front row, waiting for the other students to arrive, as he fidgeted with the brass buttons on his new shirt.

She’d written her own notes for the day on a slate, beginning the day with prayer. Alex said that Doctor McLoughlin required all students to be in class, but she still feared a mutiny, especially when the boys realized they would be under the supervision of a female.

What would happen if none of the children came this morning? She couldn’t lose this position before she’d even started. When the children arrived, she wouldn’t let any of them see her fear.

She wrote her name across the blackboard behind her desk in flowing cursive and then stepped back to critique her work.

Miss Samantha Waldron

She erased it and rewrote
Miss Waldron
. Perhaps the students might respect her more if they didn’t know her first name.

She took a deep breath as she scanned the twelve crudely carved desks in front of her. At each desk was a bench for two students to sit—twenty-four children, with Micah. If their class grew, perhaps some of the younger students could sit three to a bench.

Mr. Clarke had provided a list of the students’ names, but many of the names she couldn’t pronounce. Yet. Today she would learn the names of her students and their academic abilities. Then tomorrow morning she would begin to teach.

Even though she’d never taught, she’d certainly been in school back in Ohio long enough to learn a thing or two about how to operate in a classroom. Today she would simply implement and imitate the best teacher she’d ever had, Miss Randolph. That woman could tame a shrew.

The bell rang in the courtyard, and seconds later the door opened. She stood up straight, feigning complete confidence in her new role, but instead of a student, the clerk named Simon walked inside.

Simon took off his hat, holding it to his chest. “I just wanted to see if there’d be anything you needed this morning.”

She glanced down at the stove already warding off the morning chill. “No, thank you,” she replied. “We’re just waiting for the students to arrive. Mr. Clarke said they would be here a little after six.”

He laughed.

“Did I say something funny?”

He shook his head. “I’ve never heard anyone refer to him as
Mr. Clarke
.”

“What do you call him?”

“I call him Alex, but most people call him by his official title, Lord Clarke.”

Lord Clarke?
She had messed up his name as well.

“I’m sure it will be a fine first day for you and your students,” Simon said, though his tone lacked assurance.

She glanced beyond the window, looking at the rear gate of the fort that led to the gardens. Everyone except Madame McLoughlin acted like they were sending her into a lions’ den, but she was more afraid of failing the children than of the children themselves.

And she desperately needed this position until spring.

She glanced back at the desks, and Simon was still there, watching her.

She nodded at him. “We will have a fine day, and I hope you will as well.”

After Simon left, the minutes slowly ticked past the hour of six, but none of the children arrived.

Micah fidgeted on his bench. “Where are they?”

“I’m sure they’ll come,” she replied, though her voice sounded about as confident as Simon’s had.

She sat on her wooden chair, scanning the notes she’d already memorized. Then she picked up Mr. Calvert’s copy of
The Vicar of Wakefield
and flipped through the pages.

Should she find Mr. Clarke—Lord Clarke? She put the book on the desk. She didn’t care what the others called him. Simon called him Alex, and she would as well.

Perhaps she was supposed to collect the children herself. Alex had only said that school started after the bell. She’d assumed that the children would come when the bell rang.

She glanced back at the clock. It was now thirty minutes past six.

Maybe she should have asked Simon to retrieve her students.

* * * * *

Children finally trickled into the classroom one or two at a time, most of them arriving shortly after the hour of seven. Samantha sat at her desk, pretending to be engrossed in the vicar’s story as she waited for the seats to fill. The students laughed and talked like they didn’t notice their new teacher or the lateness of their arrival.

Samantha kept her eyes on the book’s pages.

Perhaps none of these children would respect either an American or a woman. Maybe she should snatch Micah and run out that door as Mr. Calvert had done.

But where would she run?

She lived at Fort Vancouver, if only for a season, and she would have to do the work assigned to her—and do it as well as she was able.

When all the seats in front of her were filled, she snapped the book shut. Some of the children glanced up at her, pretending not to be interested, and yet she could see the intrigue in their eyes. Others didn’t appear the least bit interested as they bantered with those around them, throwing a small leather ball back and forth across the room.

Micah squirmed on his bench,

She stepped forward, catching the ball in midflight. Then she tucked it into her apron pocket. “If you would be kind enough not to play catch during class time, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“There isn’t a kind one among us,” one of the older boys quipped.

She faced him, a forced smile on her lips. “And I aim to change that.”

A few of the children laughed at her. At first she was grateful that not all the children laughed, until she realized why. Not all of them spoke English.

She leaned back on her desk, studying their faces. “How many of you understand me?”

Half of the twenty-four students raised their hands.

She glanced around the room at those with raised hands. “What do the other children speak?”

One of the girls, about ten or eleven years old, spoke for the group. “It all depends on their mamas. Some of them speak Cree or Chinook or Nez Percé. Others speak French.”

Samantha stepped toward the girl. Her messy chestnut hair matched the streaks of dirt on her dress. “Do you know all those languages?”

The girl shrugged. “A little.”

“Please explain to the others that this morning’s late arrival was unacceptable.”

The girl muttered a few sentences, and Samantha hoped she spoke to all the children.

“We will begin again tomorrow morning,” Samantha said, and the girl translated again. “I will lock the door promptly at six thirty. Any student left outside will have to answer to Doctor McLoughlin.” She turned back around and began to gather her things. “You are dismissed.”

After a few moments of silence, the children began to stand up, turning toward the door.

Samantha tapped the book on her desk and they all faced her again.

“I expect each of you to be here on time tomorrow.” She straightened her shoulders. “And I want each of you to bring your mother.”

Alex eyed the schoolhouse as he supervised the work of a dozen laborers. Hundreds of pelts were being strung over clotheslines in the piazza. Silver fox. Elk. Pine marten. Beaver.

The men pulled the stacks of furs out of the Fur Shop and hung them outside in the sunshine. If they didn’t air and then carefully
beat the pelts, pests and mildew would destroy them long before they were put on the ship for London.

It was Alex’s duty to ensure that every pelt made it to Great Britain intact.

He knew the type of each animal by the color, size, and feel of its pelt. The gray pelts of the wolves were coarse, but they made inexpensive coats for laborers. The darker pelts of the wolverine were for the gentlemen who walked down London’s Oxford Street in the rain. The silver fox was extremely soft to the touch, fashionable for ladies’ coats, while the badger had long fur, making it perfect for shaving brushes and paintbrushes.

When the
Columbia
came into port, they would bale the fur with cheap tobacco pressed between each pelt to repel insects during the six-month journey back to London. The factories outside London would transform them into hats, coats, and brushes.

As his men worked, Alex’s gaze wandered back to the schoolhouse. He’d heard that Miss Waldron had dismissed the children yesterday morning not long after they arrived. He wanted to rush into the school and cane every one of the children for disrespecting their new teacher, but McLoughlin told him to wait. The governor wanted to see what this fiery young American would do on her own.

“Those kids are going to eat her alive,” Simon said, walking up to stand beside Alex.

“I am not so sure. She has spirit.”

“I don’t know about spirit, but she’s about the loveliest lady I’ve ever seen.”

Alex bristled. He knew that many of these men were already hounding her with marriage proposals, but he didn’t want her to have to marry one of them for provision.

“You had better take care not to make a fool of yourself, my friend.”

Simon laughed, clapping him on the back. “
L’amour
always makes a fool of itself.”

“You are not talking of love.”

“I’m talking about the beauty of desire, something you don’t seem to know about.”

Alex straightened the pelt of a bobcat. “Anyone can desire, Simon. Integrity is what makes a man.”

“You’re a true man, my friend, because you certainly don’t have any desire to marry your Lady Judith. I don’t even think you have a desire to go back to London.”

“I most certainly do—”

“Well, that’s good, because you’ll be there for the rest of your life.”

One of the laborers, a man named Paul, strode up beside them. “Have you seen Taini?”

Alex shook his head. He hadn’t seen her since the day he had fled the schoolhouse, but he’d heard that she was planning to marry one of the blacksmiths.

“She said she would repair my coat today, but she’s not at her apartment.”

“Perhaps she went to the kitchen,” Simon suggested.

Paul shook his head. “I checked there as well. Cook acted a bit strange but wouldn’t tell me where she was.”

Another laborer joined them. “She’s probably with my wife over at the school.”

“The school?” Alex’s eyebrows raised. “Why is your wife at the school?”

The man shrugged. “Ask that new teacher of yours. You’re the one who hired her.”

Technically, he hadn’t much of a choice, but he didn’t point that out to the man.