Where the Trail Ends: American Tapestries (33 page)

“He’s Yours,” she whispered, giving Micah back to the One who loved him much more than she ever could. But even as she released him to their heavenly Father, she pleaded for His mercy. She prayed that He would guide Alex’s steps and show him where Micah was.

If Micah hadn’t been found by nightfall, she would wrap Boaz’s leg and send him out with one of the men. Perhaps he would find Micah again, as he had done at the canyon.

Until then, she would continue to pray.

Alex didn’t stop walking, not even when night faded into dawn. The cold had crawled into his limbs and burrowed so deep within him
that his bones seemed to have frozen. But no matter how much his body hurt, he refused to quit.

He doubled back and forth through the forest, searching behind boulders and shouting into the trees. Surely Micah would have grown tired soon after he left the fort, lying down somewhere to rest. And if he were asleep, his blond hair would glow like candlelight in the deep browns and greens of the forest.

He couldn’t stop searching until he found the boy, for Miss Waldron’s sake and for his own. He’d almost begun to think of the three of them as—well, as a family.

He swallowed hard at the thought. It was almost as if Micah were his son.

God, help me.

Grown men with guns and knives died out here. A boy with nothing except his knapsack would be prey to too many horrific things to consider.

He had to focus on rescuing Micah, not letting his mind wander to all the possibilities.

He called out Micah’s name again, his voice almost hoarse, and then he rested against a tree. What if Micah had gone back to the fort, like Samantha and he had done when Doyle was searching for them? Micah could be with his sister, eating a hot breakfast by the fire or resting under a stack of warm blankets in bed.

He hoped Micah had already found his way home.

Perhaps he should turn back and check with Miss Waldron. If he hadn’t returned, he would pack some food and resume his search.

Alex stepped backward, turning toward the river, and when he did, he saw a wooden figure similar to the one he had seen lodged in the fort’s door.

His heart pounded as he leaned over and picked up the carved giraffe off the mossy rock. He scanned the trees around him.

“Micah!” he shouted, straining his voice.

He quickly trekked forward through the shrubs and tangled trees, searching for him. There would be no returning now, not without Micah.

He stopped again. There was no wooden animal this time, but at his feet was a blue knapsack. And there, in the trees in front of him, was a tepee.

He picked up the knapsack, surprised by its heavy weight, and set it on a rock. Then he slipped behind a tree and surveyed the village. There were five tepees clustered together near a stream, and in the center stood a birch-bark lodge. Beside the lodge, coals burned inside a ring of stones, but he didn’t see anyone tending the fire.

If only McLoughlin weren’t off at Fort Colville. The natives respected the governor, but most of them merely tolerated Alex out of deference for McLoughlin. He wished he could walk into the village and use his hands to sign for their help, but he would probably frighten them. He didn’t care to frighten any tribe of Indians, especially when he was alone.

Two Indians ducked out of one of the tepees, and Alex gasped. Between the two natives, he caught a glimpse of Micah’s hair.

He didn’t recognize the men, but they were Flatheads, and they wore shirts made of wood rat skin, long buckskin leggings, and shell ornaments around their necks.

How could he approach a tribe of Indians he didn’t know? The Flatheads were usually peaceful, but they might kill him, along with Micah, out of pure fright. He clutched the gun at his side.

Should courage restrain him now, or should it propel him forward?

Perhaps he should return to the village and gather the women who knew these tribes well to come and plead for Micah. But if
he left, the Indians might travel away with Micah or, God forbid, perform a ritual that would steal Micah’s life.

This was exactly why they shouldn’t bring children into the wilderness.

Minutes passed, his eyes fixed on the lodge as he formulated a plan. Miss Waldron communicated well with the native women in the school even when she didn’t speak their language. He might lose his life in the process, but he would have to attempt to do the same as she had done. He certainly couldn’t leave Micah here alone.

Taking a deep breath, he left Micah’s knapsack on a rock and stood tall, walking confidently toward the lodge.

God help him save this boy.

Chapter Thirty

The hours seemed like an eternity as Samantha waited with Boaz in the garden. Madame McLoughlin delivered the noon meal to her. Every time she saw the tip of a hat, her heart leaped, but the men who returned to the fort shook their heads in resignation. There was no trace of her brother.

She squeezed the elephant in her hand.

They may not know where Micah was, but God did. Even in the tangled overgrowth of this wilderness, He could see Micah. She crossed her arms, rocking on the bench as she continued to pray.

Boaz stood up, his ears arched back. She didn’t hear anything, but she watched the trees, expecting to see another of the laborers appear. This man, though, was taller than the others. And in his arms he carried something.

A boy.

Boaz barked, and together they raced toward Alex. Micah didn’t look up at her as she expected.

Had he already traveled through the pearled gates?

She breathed deep, trying to trust God when she didn’t understand.

She reached out, lifting Micah from Alex’s arms. His knapsack fell to the ground.

Her brother stirred and rested his head against her shoulder, and her heart filled with gladness at the life that remained in him. She quietly thanked God that he was alive.

“Is he injured?” she asked, holding her brother close to her.

Alex shook his head. “He is very tired, though.”

“How far did you carry him?”

He shrugged. “A ways.”

Mud caked Alex’s cloak, and his brown hair was coated with leaves, just like Micah’s. Yet he looked so handsome to her. This British gentleman who’d reprimanded her for traveling here with her brother had rescued Micah yet again.

The other men had given up, but not Alex. His tenacity overwhelmed her. His gruffness was only a prickly cover to a heart pliant with compassion. This dear man had stayed up the entire night, and he hadn’t come home until he found her brother.

This time she didn’t long to sink into his arms. She wished he could sink into hers, as Micah had done.

Tears flowed down her cheeks. “Thank you, Alex.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“You—” She started. “Twice you’ve saved his life.”

Alex picked up the knapsack and tried to smile at her, but she could see the exhaustion in his eyes, in the trembling of his arms. “And his knapsack,” he quipped as he held it up. “Your brother is quite smart. He left out his animals for me to find.”

She pulled Micah closer to her as Alex tossed the knapsack over his shoulder. “This must weigh as much as he does.”

She smiled. “He carries all his treasures with him.”

“He must be quite the wealthy young man.” Boaz nudged Alex’s leg with his nose, and Alex put his hand on the dog’s head. “You caused a lot of trouble today.”

Samantha turned, moving back toward the fort with Alex and Boaz. “Where did you find him?”

“It is a long story.”

Micah stirred again, and she smoothed her fingers over his hair. “Why don’t you tell me while you eat?”

He nodded, the weariness heavy in his eyes.

She could wait as long as necessary for the story, long enough for him to change into dry clothes, eat, even sleep if necessary. She was just glad both of them were home.

Home
.

Oregon Country had become home to her.

They walked quietly, side by side, through the open gate and to the big house.

Her heart overflowed.

Alex opened the door for Miss Waldron and Micah so the three of them could enter the big house. His skin still felt frigid, his bones tumbling inside him like ice, but he was grateful beyond words that Micah was safe. The natives hadn’t wanted to give up this boy, but God in His graciousness and power had helped him persuade them.

Micah was free.

Alex was cold and exhausted, but he was glad to be here with Micah and Miss Waldron. So very glad.

Miss Waldron nodded toward the hall. “I should put him to bed.”

He walked her to her room, opening the door for her. “Do you need me to assist you?”

The look she gave him was one of admiration, and it swelled within him, bolstering him.

“Thank you, Alex,” she said again as she lowered Micah onto the trundle bed. “I will care for him while you change into dry clothes.”

He hesitated. “Perhaps we can dine together in the next hour.”

She nodded, and her smile warmed his skin.

He backed away from her, bumping into the doorpost. Then he
closed the door and hurried down the hallway, preparing to go to his quarters.

After he changed, he would ask Cook to prepare a hot meal for him and Miss Waldron along with some porridge for Micah when he woke. Renewed vigor replaced his exhaustion at the thought of sharing a meal and his story with her. He could stay up for hours more as long as they were together.

He turned the corner of the hallway, passing the sitting room. And he stopped.

Judith was sitting on the sofa, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

Alex stared at her, horror cresting in him. All he’d thought about since last night was Micah—Miss Waldron and Micah.

He’d forgotten that he was engaged.

Judith looked perfectly pristine as her head turned slightly to meet his eyes.

“There you are,” Judith said. “Madame said you had been out all day.”

The look she gave him was much different from Miss Waldron’s. Her gaze could freeze his bones back into ice.

He shivered inside his cloak. “I am, indeed, back.”

He waited for her to inquire after Micah’s well-being, but she did not. Instead, her gaze fixed on his muddy cloak. Then she turned to Miriam. “Go draw him a bath.”

The weariness returned to him.

“There is no need,” he said with a shake of his head. “I can care for myself.”

Judith’s sigh was drawn long. “You must stop this nonsense, Alexander. When we return to London, you mustn’t stay out all day and soak yourself like a dog. You must at least act as distinguished as your uncle and allow the servants to do things for you.”

Would he be going back to London? He wasn’t so certain.

She sat up straighter. “Did Lord Stanley speak with you?”

“He did.”

Her lips eased into a smile. “The president of the London committee must act like a gentleman.”

His clothing may be filthy, his body cold and tired. He may be hungry enough to eat an entire goat in one serving, but first they needed to be honest with one another, before the ship departed for England. He stepped toward her, standing taller.

“I am not going to be the president,” he said, his voice strong.

“Of course you are—”

He shook his head. “They have nominated Lord Victor Dodds to take the presidency.”

She sank against the sofa, her mouth dropping in shock. “That is not possible.”

“I’m afraid it is. But I should be able to find another position—”

She interrupted him. “On the committee?”

He shook his head, not quite sure how to deliver information that he hadn’t had time to process for himself. As he watched her, he could see the change in her eyes. Doubt drained into anger—disdain, even. She desired this marriage as little as he did. If they married, they would both be miserable.

“The ship leaves tomorrow.” She rubbed her hands together, panicked. “We have a long journey ahead to sort this out.”

He eyed Miriam in the corner, where she studied the book in her hands, and then he looked back at Judith.

How could he tell Judith that he didn’t want to return to London? That he would fulfill his obligation to her if she really desired it but that he didn’t think either of them would be happy in this marriage? When they had agreed to marry, he had expected to become president of the committee one day, and she had aspired to be the president’s wife.