Free Where the Trail Ends: American Tapestries by Melanie Dobson Page A

Perhaps their Mr. Calvert had simply overslept after his late night on the other side of those gates or was ill in his bed.
    “Was he carrying any sort of satchel?” Alex asked.
    The boy glanced at his toes and then looked back up at him. “He was carrying a knapsack...and a couple of blankets.”
    Alex tried to swallow the anger that pressed against his throat. He’d suspected that Calvert was interested in a young Chinook woman who often came to the trading post with her father, but the teacher had never done anything that Alex would deem inappropriate. As long as Calvert did his job well, teaching the fort’s growing bounty of children, and didn’t interfere with the delicate balance of their relationship with the local Indian tribes, there had been no reason for Alex to complain.
    “Return to your seat,” Alex said, pointing to one of the roughly hewn desks.
    He scanned the faces of the twenty-three students who ranged in age from six to fourteen years old. Many of them had the copper skin of their Indian mothers and the unkempt hair of their fur-trading fathers.
    McLoughlin insisted that every one of Fort Vancouver’s children receive a good education, and he’d hired Calvert for the position until the new teacher arrived with the next ship from England. McLoughlin and his wife were still traveling with the fur-trapping party, and if the fort’s teacher had indeed snuck out during the night, Alex didn’t have any idea what to do about the school.
    He glanced out the window of the schoolhouse, examining the wide gate that opened each morning and closed at night. There was much more pressing business to attend to, but he’d promised McLoughlin that he would make sure the children attended school.
    Then he looked back at Everett. “Why didn’t you tell me before they locked the gate?”
    “I—I figured that he was just going to see, er, a friend or someone else outside. I thought he would be back by morning.”
    Alex—and most of the students, for that matter—knew exactly what the boy was implying. None of the men went out at night to visit mere friends. But if he had left... No, Calvert couldn’t possibly leave all these schoolchildren waiting for him. It was ludicrous.
    Alex opened one of the few books on the man’s desk, a copy of Robinson Crusoe .
    His leaving may seem ludicrous, but there was a bit of idiocy in Calvert. He had traveled all the way from England to make his fortune in fur trading, but when he failed miserably at trapping, he’d come knocking on McLoughlin’s door in June, asking about a position. They needed laborers to help erect new buildings outside the fort, but Calvert apparently believed that he was much too educated to be a common laborer.
    So McLoughlin gave him the only other position that was available, due to the fact that no one else—officer, tradesman, or laborer—wanted to teach the fort’s unruly children. They weren’t paying Calvert the fortune he had originally sought, but he was a fairly educated man—educated quite well by the standards of this district. McLoughlin was paying a modest salary out of his personal income for Calvert to show up at six o’clock, five mornings every week, to teach these children and teach them well.
    “Should we go search for him?” a girl asked. He recognized her as the daughter of one of his British clerks. He wasn’t sure who her mother was.
    A boy snickered. “You ain’t gonna find old Cal if he don’t wanna to be found.”
    The girl’s short braids twirled when she turned toward the boy, her hands on her hips. “Maybe he’s hurt or something. He might be a-needing us to find him.”
    Alex sighed. Calvert had obviously failed to teach those who spoke English to do so properly.
    The young girl turned back, grinning up at Alex. “Maybe you could teach us?”
    This time several of the boys snorted.
    “We will find Calvert,” he said. And when he did, he’d tan the man.
    Everett sat up straighter at his desk.