Free Where the Trail Ends: American Tapestries by Melanie Dobson

consulting the women before they proceeded with this deplorable action. The husbands might be afraid of stampedes and disease, but they were clearly moreafraid of their wives. Otherwise they would have told them of the decision and allowed them to say their good-byes.
    She’d heard three shots as she was coming from the stream. Colt, she guessed, and two other dogs were no longer members of their party. What would happen to the remaining dogs?
    The sound of crying grew louder, and a woman began to yell hysterically. She tightened her hold on Boaz’s neck. It was too late to remedy what had been done. A chasm had been chiseled through their community. “This is going to destroy us,” she whispered.
    Jack’s gaze wandered back to the circle of wagons, his voice resigned. “I’m afraid you might be right.”
    And it could destroy her and Jack.
    The captain was gone when they returned to her family’s wagon. Her father was quietly setting up the tent beside it, Micah helping him. Micah rushed to Boaz, wrapping his arms around the dog’s neck. Papa nodded to Jack before Samantha climbed into the safety of the tent. She didn’t know where Jack went, and at that moment, she didn’t particularly care.

    No more dogs were killed that night, but the dark shadow of despondency descended over the party as they ate their evening meal. No one sang or played music as the blazes of the campfires cooled into beds of coal. She doubted any of the company would sleep well either.
    Papa let Boaz sleep in the tent, between Samantha and Micah.
    “No barking,” she whispered as she wrapped one of her arms over Boaz. If he caused any sort of ruckus, she would never be able to convince the men of their need for him.
    Her brother reached for her hand and squeezed her fingers. “Thanks, Samantha.”
    She held on to his hand until his breathing stilled. Then, through the flap in the tent, she looked out at the wide sky and breathed a thank-you to the God of the wilderness for rescuing her dog.
    Jack’s face, so handsome and stalwart, flashed through her mind. What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t marry him, not if he was one of the nine, but she didn’t know how she could make Papa understand. Her father loved Boaz, but not like she did. He would think that she was being foolish if she didn’t marry Jack on account of a dog.
    Someone cried in one of the wagons, and she heard two other people shouting at each other.
    Tomorrow their company would have to mend the chasm that cut through them like the Snake had cut through the canyon. Tomorrow they would have to continue their journey on to Oregon as a community.
    Then, when they got to the Willamette, they would do as Jack said and go their separate ways.

Chapter Seven
    “What do you mean, he left?” Alex exclaimed, slamming his fist on the desk.
    The eleven-year-old boy in front of him jumped, and the low buzz of voices in the schoolroom stopped as the eyes of all the children focused on him.
    Ever since McLoughlin left Alex to run the fort, it felt as if everything were collapsing around him. The laborers were behind in building a new warehouse for their furs to replace the one that burned down last year, the women were having trouble keeping up with the demand to make a thousand nails a day, the trading post was eerily slow this week in its business with the natives, and now the schoolteacher had disappeared.
    The palisades remained stalwart around the fort, but with everything else falling down inside them, he wouldn’t be shocked if they collapsed as well.
    Everett stepped back. “I don’t mean anything else by it, sir. I just—I saw him walking out the gate last night.”
    Alex took a deep breath as he tried to calm himself. He needed to concentrate on housing and inventorying this next shipment of furs instead of worrying about the school, but he had promised McLoughlin that he would make sure the children were in school. This promise was impossible without a teacher.