Where the Trail Ends: American Tapestries (31 page)

She squeezed Micah’s hand. “Surely he’ll come back later today.”

Micah nodded, but doubt had settled into his eyes. His world was fracturing today: Alex was preparing to leave, he had to say good-bye to his school friends, they were preparing to travel once again into the unknown, and now their beloved dog had failed to come home,

“We can’t leave without him,” Micah insisted.

She shook her head. “We won’t.”

March rain dripped around them, a seemingly endless deluge. The days were still short and gray, the sun hiding itself behind the clouds during the few hours it crossed their horizon. She longed to feel the sunshine on her arms, her face. She longed to be outside these palisades, roaming the countryside again.

She hadn’t left this fortress since they arrived, but today she wanted to run far away, on the other side of these walls.

Officers and laborers alike were carting barrels of fur down to
the boat landing, but she didn’t dare survey the crowd moving in and out of the gate. She was afraid she might see Alex among them.

The bell rang as she stepped into the classroom. It was already full of her students and their mothers, all of them looking as mournful as she felt. Mr. Bevins had been hired to teach only the children of the fort, but she hoped he would teach the mothers as well. If he didn’t, at least now the mothers could help the children with their lessons—and make sure they attended school.

Her eyes filled with tears as she said her good-byes to all of her pupils. They had all worked together the past four months; they’d taught her about this new life, and she’d helped them learn the basics of a new language.

Micah bounded up the steps when they got back to the big house that afternoon, searching again for Boaz, but their dog still hadn’t returned. Lady Judith was in the parlor with her maid, however. Adorning the mantel and end tables were an assortment of grasses, decorative branches, and wreathes made of evergreens and winter berries. They were a pretty alternative to flowers, she supposed, when flowers couldn’t be found.

Madame McLoughlin joined them in the parlor, a platter with a pot of tea and three cups in her hands. “The men are all vying for Miriam.”

“Perhaps you should stay here,” Samantha suggested, smiling at Lady Judith’s maid.

A gasp escaped Lady Judith’s lips, but Samantha saw the slightest of smiles on Miriam’s petite face. She was probably a year or two older than Samantha, and she was quite pretty with her slender figure and pale green eyes. No wonder the men were smitten.

“Where are the Stanleys?” Samantha asked.

Madame McLoughlin glanced as Lady Judith as if she expected her to respond. When she didn’t, Madame spoke. “They’ve been resting all day. It was a long journey.”

Madame set the platter on the coffee table, and Miriam reached forward, pouring it for them.

“Would you like tea?” Miriam asked.

Samantha shook her head, backing toward the door. She couldn’t stay here, making polite conversation with her Ladyship.

“I’m so sorry.” She nudged Micah’s arm. “We need to search for our dog.”

They rushed outside, but she hesitated at the fort’s back gate. It was the first time she’d been outside the walls since they arrived in November.

Micah nudged her forward, his knapsack perched over his shoulder.

They walked together into the muddy gardens, shouting for Boaz around the outer wall, and then took the path up to the village where Micah said many of the laborers lived. They passed green fields, acres of orchards and vineyards, stables, a sawmill, barns, dairy houses, hundreds of animals, and a blacksmith shop.

She hadn’t realized a whole world existed outside the fort’s walls.

The two of them searched for hours, calling Boaz’s name, but their dog didn’t respond. With the sun hidden by the clouds, it was impossible to know what time it was. Darkness came upon them quickly, and she hurried Micah back to the fort.

There were still fifty yards from the back gate when she watched the double doors close for the night. She and Micah shouted, running toward them before they were locked, but it was too late. She pushed on the doors, but the bolt was already in place.

She nudged him forward. “We need to hurry to the front gate.”

She and Micah ran as fast as they could, circling the outer wall. Doctor McLoughlin was strict about not letting people come and go in the late hours in order to alleviate theft, but the watchman couldn’t leave her and Micah out here in the night.

The wind blew harder now, rustling the trees behind her and sending leaves swirling around her cloak. The front gate was closed, so she jiggled the handle on the postern. It was also locked.

She pounded on the small door, praying the watchman would hear her. She didn’t want to think about hiking back up to the village tonight with no lantern.

Micah joined her in the pounding until someone shouted from the other side. “Who’s there?”

“It’s Samantha Waldron,” she shouted back in the wind. “And my brother.”

The lock rattled and Daniel finally opened the door, a lantern swinging in his hand. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to be out this late?”

“Our dog ran away,” she said.

Daniel glanced over her shoulder at Micah rummaging through his knapsack.

She shook her head. “We didn’t find him.”

“It’s dangerous in the dark—”

She stopped him. “We’re well aware of the dangers.”

Samantha stepped through the open doorway, but Micah lingered by the door, cinching his knapsack shut.

“Come along,” she insisted.

Micah peeked out the door one last time, and then he shut it. The watchman motioned her and Micah forward and escorted them back to the big house. Daniel stepped up onto the porch, but even after Samantha opened the door, he didn’t leave.

“Thank you for bringing us back safely,” she said.

His neck strained to look around her. “Do you think Miss Miriam is still taking callers?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would you mind inquiring for me?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching the gate?” she asked.

“I’ll only stay for a few minutes,” he said. “Just to give my regards.”

She stepped into the sitting room and found Alex and Lady Judith, Alex reading aloud. The thought of them spending every evening in their home together overwhelmed her for a moment. Her eyes blurred until they found Miriam, who sat quietly in a rocking chair listening to the story.

“You have a caller at the door,” she said.

Miriam blushed, and Samantha could feel the heat swelling in her own wet cheeks when Alex looked at her. “By all means,” he said, “send the gentleman in.”

His eyes didn’t leave her face, and she studied the floor for a moment before she looked up at him. When she met his gaze again, he was almost pleading with her. “Would you like to join us?”

Lady Judith cleared her throat. “Certainly Miss—”

“Waldron,” Samantha finished for her.

Lady Judith’s eyes were on Alex. “Certainly Miss Waldron has other obligations this evening.”

Part of her wanted to run back to her room and bury herself under her covers. She didn’t want to be here with Alex and Lady Judith, nor did she want to hear the watchman try to impress poor Miriam.

But she wasn’t going to run. She could sit with them for an hour or two. For all she knew, this might be the last evening she would spend with Alex before he left for London.

“I must get Micah to bed first,” she said.

After Micah climbed under his covers, she kissed his cheek. He prayed that God would bring Boaz back to them...and then he prayed that God would bring Alex back to them as well.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The candle flickered in the darkness as Alex packed his belongings into his camphorwood cassette. After Miss Waldron arrived in the parlor tonight, Judith talked incessantly about their upcoming wedding and all who would attend. She had already selected a date for the fall and delivered an invitation to Her Majesty.

Miss Waldron didn’t speak often, but still the differences between the two women were stark. Both had endured difficult journeys to travel here, but there was no joy in Judith’s heart for this new place. Granted, the skies had dumped buckets upon buckets of water since her arrival, and she couldn’t see its beauty. But even if she saw the flowers and gardens and snow-covered mountains, he doubted that she would love this country as he did.

He had paced the piazza for an hour after he bid good night to the ladies.

Affection might grow between a man and woman who scarcely knew each other, but how was he supposed to marry a woman whom he no longer liked?

Someone knocked on his door, and he glanced up at the clock on his wall. It was after ten.

Most everyone at the fort should be asleep after working all day in the rain to load the ship. Perhaps the night watchman had seen his candle and was checking on him.

He opened the door, and there before him was Lord Stanley, shivering in the cold. He quickly hurried the man into his room.

“You should not have come out so late.”

“I would have come earlier,” Lord Stanley countered, “but the voyage was most disagreeable for Lady Stanley and me.”

The lord unbuttoned his cloak, and Alex hung it on a peg before he offered the man a chair.

“I have news for you, from London.”

Alex sat across from him. “Lady Judith said you might.”

“Unfortunately, it is not pleasant news that I bear.”

Alex leaned forward. “Please tell me what happened.”

“Lord Neville Clarke is deceased.”

Alex fell back against his chair.

“The doctors said it was the poor condition of his heart.”

His uncle was dead.
“How long ago?”

“Eight months past.”

His hands trembled. “How is my aunt?”

“As well as can be expected.”

“So you have come to make sure I return to the committee...” Alex’s voice trailed off.

Lord Stanley hesitated. “In your absence, the committee inquired about your lineage. There was some question, you see, about your father.”

“My father was the Duke of Clarke. Lord Neville Clarke’s brother.”

Lord Stanley retrieved a letter from his coat pocket and slipped it to Alex to read. Alex opened the crumpled sheet.

It was a letter from the Duke of Clarke, the man he believed to be his father, dated the year Alex was born. It said that his wife was expecting but the child was not his. The duke had been abroad in the year his wife conceived this child.

Alex’s hands trembled as he hastily handed back the letter. “Did my uncle know this?”

Lord Stanley slowly nodded his head. “The duke gave it to him before he died.”

And yet his uncle had taken him in, groomed him to take his place on the committee, made him his heir. Alex shook his head in disbelief, unable to speak.

When he did, his voice was a whisper. “Who gave you this letter?”

Lord Stanley looked at his hands.

“Who gave it to you?” he repeated.

“Lady Clarke.”

“But why would my aunt...” he began, and then he stopped. “I see. I am no longer the heir, am I?”

“In the past year, Lady Clarke has befriended a distant cousin of yours.” Lord Stanley hesitated. “They have developed some sort of agreement.”

“This cousin will inherit the title and the property?”

“He will.”

Alex cringed. The next heir had presumably promised his aunt a greater share of Uncle Neville’s money than she would receive in her dower. And Alex would receive nothing from his uncle’s estate.

“Did the committee discover the name of my real father?”

“Your father is believed to be a street performer named Fulton Knox.”

His stomach clenched. “I believed him to be my stepfather.”

“Knox has been dead sixteen years now.”

“Is there then no place on the committee for me?”

Lord Stanley slowly shook his head. “They have nominated Lord Dodds.”

“Of course.”

There was no reason to return to London.

He set the letter by the candle, raking his fingers through his hair. He’d miss his uncle, the man who’d given a little boy hope to continue living despite the grief that had threatened to consume him. He’d miss the man who had rescued Fulton Knox’s son from poverty and shame and who always had confidence in him.

Judith had said the news in his letter was good. She must know that his uncle was dead. How could she consider that
good
? “Does Judith know this?”

“Only about your uncle’s death.”

Alex swallowed hard, closing his eyes. Judith must still think he would become the president of the committee. Perhaps that was why she’d boarded the ship, to make sure not only that he would return, but that she would be secured in the position of president’s wife.

He looked at the dark window and watched rivulets stream down the pane. What would Judith do when she discovered the truth? Could he dare hope that she would change her mind?

He escorted Lord Stanley to the door.

“I am sorry to be the bearer of such bad news.”

Alex nodded. “I am sorry that my uncle is gone. But I thank you for coming in person to tell me.” He closed the door and walked back to his chair.

It felt as though the world had split open under his feet and he was falling without any idea where he would land. But even as he fell, a new thought began to seed in his mind.

He was free now—free of all the expectations of the committee. Free to find a position he enjoyed. Free to live his life in the way Sovereignty directed.

He could remain at Fort Vancouver and continue working for McLoughlin. Perhaps Judith wouldn’t have to get back on the ship. He could fulfill his obligation and provide for her here.

Rain pattered harder against the window, seeming to drown out his thoughts. If he stayed here, his work would change. He was at Fort Vancouver at the request of his uncle, the president of the committee. If he wanted to stay, would the current president allow him to do so?

McLoughlin had probably been sent a letter from the committee
to explain the pending change in leadership. Once McLoughlin returned from his trip, he might not permit Alex to stay here.