“Nah. My wife is tired of travelling. We’ve set up a nice little spot, and the children are enjoying the school. I think we’ll stick it out here.”
She smiled. It was nice to know that not everyone was going to desert Dawson. “Anything else today, Mr. Watson?”
“I’ll take a copy of The Nugget, too. That’s the latest, is it?”
“Of course.”
At Liza’s suggestion, Belinda had taken out a number of subscriptions to the local paper. Each cost twenty-four dollars a year, but it was worth the investment. Everyone here was hungry for news.
After Mr. Watson had paid and left, Liza returned to her ledgers. Her inventory was going to need closer attention over the next little while, she decided, because the prospect of Nome was already eating away at her profits column. After another half hour of tweaking numbers, she pulled on her coat, locked up the shop, and headed home. It was colder outside than she’d expected, and it was a relief to reach her house and slip into bed.
Her sheets were cool and soft, her pillow fresh, and she felt the day’s worries drain from her body as she snuggled in and let her mind wander. This month marked an anniversary of sorts. Almost one year ago she had staggered into the chaotic metropolis of Dawson City, and somehow she’d managed to build a life out of nothing. She had a store that was every bit as prosperous as her father had once dreamed it would be, she was healthy and happy, and she had friends. And, of course, there was Ben.
She hadn’t seen him that day, but they’d gone for a nice walk the night before, and he’d even told her a little about his cowboying days before he’d joined the Mounties. Slowly he seemed to be opening up, though he never talked about his family. As she drifted off, she thought about the way Ben kept those memories to himself. It was almost as if he wanted to protect her from whatever had happened to him.
Hours later, she awoke to a pounding on the door.
“Liza!” More pounding. “Liza! Wake up!”
She threw her robe on, lit her lantern, then stopped short when she peered through the window and saw Ben standing there. What time was it? What was he doing there? She opened the door, and the sight of a blazing golden sky made her take a step back.
“Fire!” Ben was filthy, smeared head to toe in grime, and his eyes were bloodshot. Flickering in their depths was a fear she’d never seen before. “Big one.”
She could smell it, the bitter, choking stink of smoke riding a strong northeast wind. The night sky jumped with gold and red and the noise was deafening. How had she slept through all this? Panic rose inside her.
“Where?”
“Started near the saloon by McDonald’s theatre, but it’s spreading like a monster. It’s everywhere. The buildings are dried out and burning like paper. Most of the waterfront is already on fire, and the Opera House just lit up.”
“But . . .” Through the crackling of the flames, she heard voices shouting madly at each other. “What about the fire department? Can they not—”
“They brought the new truck down and they’re trying, but they can’t cut through the ice fast enough to get to the river.” He glanced behind him, then back at her. “Your house should be fine, but downtown might be gone by morning.”
“How . . . what about the shop? My things?”
Ben whistled, and a grey- and black-smudged Keitl appeared, harnessed to a small wagon.
“You have a little time before the fire reaches the shop, but not a lot,” Ben said. “You’ll have to be fast. Grab what’ll fit on the wagon, and bring it back here. If you have any gold, bring it all. People are losing their entire fortunes tonight. I’ll find you when I’m done.” He stepped back, dropped his gaze to Keitl. “And keep her with you, okay? She’ll get hurt if she comes with me.”
Then he was gone, and Liza’s heart beat so fast she could hardly breathe. She ran back to her bedroom and pulled on her trousers and a warm sweater, then wrapped a kerchief over her face against the smoke. She headed directly to the shop with Keitl at her side, ducking through the noisy, panicked crowds as the heat grew more and more intense. Men sprinted past with water buckets and sloshed what they could over the buildings, but she could see they were fighting a losing battle. When she got to the store, she began collecting everything she thought Keitl could haul, then she filled her own arms.
“Okay, Keitl. Let’s go.”
With her tail unusually low, Keitl trotted beside Liza towards the house. By the time they reached it and had emptied the wagon, Liza figured they had time for one more trip. It was harder to get back this time, because people were throwing clothes and furniture into the streets, hoping to save what they could, but their efforts only blocked the bucket brigade.
“Come on, Keitl. We can do it.”
As Liza loaded her wagon, smoke started creeping through the shop’s door, seeking out the ceiling, and the walls were getting hot. Liza grabbed the last bundles and ran into the street as the saloon a few doors down began to burn in earnest.
“Liza!”
Liza turned towards the voice. “Oh, Belinda!” she cried, running towards her friend. Belinda had obviously been out for a while—her face, hands, and clothes were covered in soot. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I think the hotel will be all right, too. We had a couple of sparks catch up top, but the boys put them out.”
Liza noticed men throwing buckets of mud and water all over the hotel’s beautiful walls, hoping to discourage the fire, and more volunteers were laying mud-covered blankets on the roof.
“I have coffee on in the kitchen,” Belinda said, “and I dumped a lot of rum or brandy into it for the men fighting the fire. After they tasted it, they all wanted to save the Fairview. Though I’ll tell you: I took a cup myself and it nearly knocked me silly.” Her eyes grew sad. “The dance hall girls—there must have been fifty of them—were all running around in bare feet or slippers, and not enough clothes on to wad a shotgun. They’ve lost everything. But at least they’re warm now, and they’ve had something to drink to take the edge off.”
“I’ve just come from the shop,” Liza said. “I don’t think it will make it. I’ve managed to save a few things, but not much.”
Belinda squeezed her hand. “We’ll be okay,” she said, then something caught her attention and she called to the men, “More mud over there, please!”
Liza told Belinda she would be back, then set off with Keitl again. Once she’d unpacked the wagon, she undid the harness and returned with Keitl to the Fairview, where Belinda had set up a soup kitchen of sorts.
“Steele just declared Martial Law because of all the looting going on,” Belinda said, her arms full of blankets. “The miners, gamblers, shopkeepers, and saloon men will have no place to go. We’ll take care of them here.”
“All right,” Liza said. “I’ll start with—”
A sharp blast cut through the air, louder than a hundred gunshots going off at once. It shook the building, rattling the dishes, and they ran outside to see. A massive smoke cloud plumed from the other end of town. Another boom! rocked the ground, then another, and even from where they stood on Front Street, they could see planks and windows shooting through the thick grey smoke like huge bullets. Metal sheets flew end over end, crashing onto the burning town and the frozen surface of the Klondike River.
“What on earth?” Belinda cried.
A man tore by the hotel’s veranda, and Belinda stopped him, demanding to know what had happened.
“A bunch of miners’ cabins exploded down around Eighth and Hanson,” he gasped. “Mounties lit ’em up to give the fire less fuel, but some of the cabins had dynamite in them.”
Ben, Liza thought. “Is everyone all right?”
“Dunno. Bunch of Mounties down there. Someone said something about a Constable trapped inside.” He stepped back. “I’m sorry, Miss Mulrooney, but I gotta get more water.”
Without thinking, Liza darted down the street, Keitl by her side. She ran for blocks, not stopping despite the
burn in her lungs, racing towards the site where thick black smoke still rolled like liquid tar. She barely saw all the people she passed, barely knew where she was anymore. All she could think about was the feel of Ben’s hand in hers, and his steady blue gaze watching her. She couldn’t lose that. She couldn’t lose him.
When she reached the devastated cabins, men were passing buckets and water was flying, but the fire still raged. She spotted a nurse tending to a soot-blackened body and ran towards them before stopping short at the terrible realization that the body was that of Sergeant Thompson. Blood covered half his face, and what Liza could see of it looked badly damaged. She grabbed a second wet cloth to help the nurse cool Thompson’s face while Keitl licked his other cheek clean.
Liza searched the nurse’s face. “What happened to him?”
“He and Constable Turner went into those two cabins when they heard a miner had been sleeping it off inside one of them.” She pointed. “But the back wall of this one fell in and started burning. A beam collapsed on the Sergeant, but he was near enough to the entrance that he crawled out.”
Liza’s heart stopped. “But . . . but what about the other cabin? Where’s Constable Turner? Has no one gone in to save him?”
The nurse didn’t answer, or if she did, Liza didn’t hear her. She’d already stepped away from Thompson and was staring in horror at the burning building before her. Ben is in there.
She took one of the wet cloths from the ground, wrapped it around her face and head, then sprinted towards the inferno, ignoring the nurse’s protests and Keitl’s frantic barking. The heat scorched her skin as she raced around the building, looking for an opening. There! she thought, spotting a section of the wall that had fallen in.
She tossed a desperate prayer to the heavens, then plunged through the fire. For all the flames lighting the darkness outside, it was black as night in the cabin, congested by all the smoke. Using the bursts of fire beside and above her as guides, Liza moved farther into the building. Her throat burned with every breath she took, and her eyes streamed with tears from the smoke. When a rafter crashed to the floor beside her, she jumped, but its bright orange embers lit up the far wall where a number of timbers had already collapsed. She squinted through the darkness and spotted a shape lying beneath them.
Heart racing, she ran over and tried to kick the lumber out of the way, but the wood was too heavy. She pushed with her foot as hard as she could, rocking it back and forth until the timbers finally shifted. Sparks shot out, and she dropped to the floor, right beside Ben.
He lay face down, unmoving. She knew the black sheen of his hair, though it was thick with ash. She knew the strength of his shoulders, though he lay helpless before her. Another rafter anchored his leg, but from somewhere within her she found an unexpected strength, and she moved it and rolled Ben onto his back. His eyes were closed, his face slack and bloodied. Was he breathing? Was she too late?
She couldn’t worry about that now. Standing unsteadily, she grabbed him under his arms and shuffled backwards, dragging his dead weight through the cabin, towards the burning exit. Her breaths came quicker now, shallow, and she wasn’t sure if the stars swirling through her vision came from the fire or her own desperate need for air. Was she going in the right direction? The world was spinning, shifting above and below, and she couldn’t see anymore. She tightened her hold on Ben, and when she thought she was close enough to the edge of the building she threw herself backwards. Then everything went black.
Ben
THIRTY-FOUR
“Sure helps you believe, don’t it?” An unfamiliar voice cut through the fog in Ben’s head.
“What’s that?” someone asked.
“Miracles. That nurse is calling it a miracle.”
“Maybe. Maybe just dumb luck.”
“Move aside,” a woman demanded.
I know that voice.
“What he needs is air, and I don’t mean all your heavy breathing. Back up, boys. Get back to work on the fire. You know Steele’s arresting men who aren’t pitching in, right?”
A cool hand slid under Ben’s neck, dragging him out of the murk, and something cold pressed to his lips.
“That’s it, Ben,” Belinda said. “You need water. Open up. Let’s get you going again.”
She poured a few sips into his mouth.
Thank you, he tried to say, but all that came out was a whistle. He wanted—needed—to open his eyes, but they felt burned shut.
“Hush now. Save your strength. And keep your eyes closed. There’s nothing to see.”
Something warm pushed against him.
“Keitl! Back up, dog. He doesn’t need you licking him.”
Ben drifted off, coming to again when a cool cloth pressed against his cheeks, his brow, his eyes. The water trickling down the sides of his face seemed to come straight from heaven.
Where am I?
He remembered voices ringing out, a chaotic choir in the midst of a burning madness.
The fire.
“Liza,” he croaked.
“Hush, Ben. You need to rest,” Belinda said, but he heard a catch in her throat, and Ben was suddenly alert. What had happened? What could make the indomitable Belinda Mulrooney cry?
Tell me, he mouthed.
He heard her sob. “Oh, that girl.”
“What?” he demanded again, though his voice made such a pathetic sound he wondered if she’d even heard it.
“Liza went into the building, Ben. She went in for you.” She sniffed. “Everyone was standing around, staring at the fire, and she just—” She caught her breath. “She found you in there, and didn’t she pull your carcass to the door? Didn’t she get you out?”
“She. Is—” It hurt to breathe. Oh, it hurt so much.
“Fine, Ben. She is fine. She’s in the hospital, and she’s faring better than you, but only just.”
Liza.
He faded in and out of consciousness, losing track of hours and days, brought back intermittently by Keitl, water, and caring voices, sometimes Belinda, sometimes nurses. By the time Superintendent Sam Steele came to his bedside, Ben was able to sit and open his eyes, though they burned so badly he was forced to squint.
“Thank you for coming,” Ben said carefully, a hint of his voice returning.
“I’m glad to see you recovering well, Constable. Quite a fire. Quite a fire indeed. Biggest Dawson City has ever seen.” The Superintendent inhaled deeply through his nose. “We were fortunate in that we had no loss of life; however, I do have unpleasant news to share with you.”
“Miss . . . Miss Peterson?”
“No, no. It isn’t her. She is doing well,” Steele said, and Ben’s relief was immediate. “I visited her this morning, and the nurses are having difficulty keeping her in bed. Keeps talking about you, wanting to come up here to the outpost. I told her to rest, that you were in no condition to visit, but that you would appreciate it eventually.”
“But if she’s all right, then what . . . ?”
“I’m afraid the trouble is with Sergeant Thompson.” He cleared his throat, dropping his gaze briefly before looking back at Ben. “He was injured quite badly in the fire. A beam fell on him, and it split his face. But he did get out. He will survive. Unfortunately, the doctor had no choice but to remove Thompson’s left eye this morning.”
Ben gasped, which caused him to cough.
“Steady there,” Steele said, handing him a glass of water. “The Sergeant will be all right, given time. It appears that he got out quickly and took in less smoke than you.”
Ben knew what Steele was going to say next, and it tore him in half.
“Of course, Thompson will no longer be medically fit to be an active member of the Force, but because of his seniority and exemplary service, he will retain a diminished role. It has yet to be decided where and what that will be.”
The Thompson Ben knew would bristle at a “diminished role.” “Does he know?”
“Of course.” Steele turned and Ben kn
ew he was just pretending to look out the window. “He has requested that I allow him to continue working the case focused around Ralph Stevens. He says he’s close to cracking it. So at least for now he will be doing that.”
Ben didn’t notice Steele leaving. He was staring straight ahead, tears burning his bloodshot eyes. Thompson is all right, he kept trying to tell himself. He will live. And Ben was alive, thanks to Liza. He supposed they should all count themselves as lucky, but it was awfully hard to see it that way.
Thompson came to see Ben two days later, and Ben did his best to lighten the situation. He admired the new eye patch, suggesting his friend might consider a career among pirates instead. Thompson took the teasing well, but Ben heard the bitterness in his voice.
When Ben was finally allowed to leave his bed, he had to lean on a cane due to a bad knee strain, but things could have been a lot worse. With Keitl by his side, Ben limped towards the door, but when he opened it, he stopped mid-step, paralyzed by the excruciating pain of sunlight cutting into his eyes. He took a moment to breathe through the shock and adjust to the light, then he crossed the threshold and joined Thompson and Steele, who were already outside.
When he could see well enough, he was stunned by the changed landscape. Almost the entire town had been flattened, and what buildings remained at least partially intact were black and grey, either from smoke or from the mud thrown on the walls to discourage fire. They teetered like charred skeletons, looming over mountains of ruined furniture and clothing that had been thrown from windows. The slumped shapes of men wandered through what was left, and he saw them kicking at cinders, searching for anything of value. A few even squatted in the ashes and burnt-out doorways, stubbornly panning for gold.
“Looks like a hundred and ten buildings gone,” Thompson said. “Hundreds of tonnes of provisions burned up. Next shipment’s not for five more weeks, so everyone’s gonna have to cut back.”
“Is that the Fairview?” Ben asked, pointing, then he brought his hand back to his head. It was pounding fiercely.
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