She loosed a dismayed sound. Riley might get in a few good bites around the ankles, sure, but Samuel was as determined as all get out, and she knew who would win in the end.
Whiskey helped dull the razor edge of her fear, at least. She snuck a few fiery sips from the flask in her pocket.
At the top of Shinbone Hill, the mucky trail petered out. There, the Professor hitched the horse to a spindly fir tree and unloaded four shovels from the cart. His long brown braid brushed the ground as he knelt.
While he worked, Annie looked toward town, down on the stewpot of mud and clapboard. Like a bustling anthill dropped among jutting mountains and gleaming glaciers, Caribou Crossing belched out smoke and noise. And while the warren of plank-board buildings was ugly as all get-out, it sang through the haze of her fear, crooning a ballad of late nights and revelry and men drunk on whiskey, gold, and loneliness.
Damn, but she couldn’t bear to leave the Klondike behind. Not when it had offered her such freedom. If Samuel dragged her back to Texas, she’d wither up and die, simple as that. That would be the end of Annie Marigold, who’d once been called the Flower of the North.
While she ruminated, Palmer broke ground. Hacking at the peat, he drove the strength of his lanky frame down through the shovel’s blade. Under his breath, he murmured a long string of words she could only halfway hear.
Numbers?
She turned. “Professor?”
He paused, his brown eyes dark and brittle. Though she knew better, she reached for his arm. But hell, why not? Madam had always said he hated to be touched, but Palmer had brought her up the stairs that godawful night, hadn’t he?
To her surprise, he didn’t flinch—just stared down at her hand.
“I’m angry, too,” she said, her voice low. “Mad enough to start a fight in an empty house.”
Palmer went back to digging.
The others joined him, silent. Temperance worked with strong, steady strokes. But Sophia was a surprise. Despite her size, she attacked the soil, making the most headway of anyone.
Annie picked up a shovel, too. When they reached permafrost, she stopped to stretch her aching back. Sweat dampened her gown, despite the cool kiss of the breeze.
Sophia never slowed. She drove into the frozen ground, muscles straining beneath her linen shirt. She looked like a strangely muscular child—a sight to see, no doubt about it.
Annie nodded her approval. “You’re strong. Even if you’re about as big as the little end of nothing.”
Sophia glanced up. “I belonged to the circus. Before.”
Temperance slowed. Palmer’s rhythmic chanting continued, as if he hadn’t heard a word.
Annie cocked her head. Size aside, Sophia was a vision, even in men’s clothing. Jet hair fell to her waist, the tresses so black they glinted blue in the sunlight, and that flawless face was full of wide-set black eyes and sculpted cheekbones. It was almost like she’d stolen her features from an oil painting somewhere.
Somehow, all that loveliness eased Annie’s terror—reached right in and soothed her.
Maybe life would continue, even without their guiding star. Maybe Samuel would never find her, here at the end of the world.
Temperance looked thoughtful. “How’d you come to Caribou Crossing, Sophia?”
The new girl’s face closed like a curtain being drawn. “Up through Chilkoot Pass. Same as you.”
Annie frowned. Of course, that wasn’t what Temperance had meant. But if the new girl didn’t want to say why she’d fled the Outside, then Annie didn’t intend to stick her nose where it didn’t belong.
***
While the others lowered the coffin with long ropes, Annie dragged Riley away. When he howled, she cradled him to her chest, for her own comfort as much as his.
Temperance shed a few graceful tears, then filled the crisp air with pretty words. Sophia crouched beside the grave, her gaze far away. Palmer stood beneath the crooked fir tree, petting the horse’s nose.
When the service ended, no one spoke.
With more whiskey zinging in her veins, Annie decided to bring a bit of brightness to the bleak day. After all, what was everybody waiting for—Irene to throw her coffin open and sit up? Fat chance.
She set Riley down. “Y’all’s moping is just about killing me. You know Madam wouldn’t’ve liked it.”
In Sophia’s bottomless black eyes, something hard glimmered. “There’s plenty she wouldn’t’ve liked about this.”
Temperance tossed a handful of dirt onto Irene’s coffin. The soil landed with a hollow thump. “Philippians one three.”
Annie groaned. “Oh, dear Lord. Here we go with the Biblical nonsense again.”
“I give thanks to my God for every remembrance of you.”
“Oh. Well, I guess that one ain’t so bad.”
With the sun sliding toward the mountains, Temperance’s eyes shone like tiger’s-eye jewels. “I have so many memories. Mostly of the way Madam loved people. Remember that time Flora got drunk and punched her, but Madam just hugged her until she calmed down?”
Annie’s lips tugged upward. “’Course. Irene woulda charged into Hell with nothing but a bucket of ice water. Remember when Flora up and married Hans, then came back crying once he hit her? Madam went straight to the records office and tore up the marriage license, right there in front of the clerk.”
Temperance broke into a grin. “And when Hans showed up at the Blossom, she decked him.”
Annie giggled at the glorious memory. Digging into her skirt pocket for her flask, she took a comforting swig, then offered the liquor to Sophia.
Surprisingly, Sophia drank, playing along. “I didn’t think people like Irene existed. She just found me in an alley and offered me more money than I ever thought I’d see. More than that, she offered me a home. A chance. Even though she didn’t have to.” Cheeks pink, Sophia passed the flask to Palmer.
He looked around. “What?”
“We’re sharing, sugar,” Annie said, still marveling at Sophia’s response. So the ice queen had a soft side. Color her surprised. “What do you reckon your favorite thing about Madam was?”
“Oh.” Palmer looked down. “She understood me. Nobody else does.”
Ain’t that the truth. “Now take a drink and pass it.”
He did, and Temperance went again.
“She never judged me. She knew why I fled Salt Spring, but never held it against me.”
Annie’s eyebrows rose. For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine Temperance fleeing anyplace. What in blazes did that mean?
Temperance passed the flask back untouched.
Annie drained the dregs, holding whiskey on the back of her tongue until her eyes watered. “And Lord, that woman could fuck with the best of ‘em. I remember she took Jackhammer Jim upstairs one night, ‘cause I sure as hell wasn’t gonna. Would’ve taken me days to recover. At any rate, I thought the Blossom would fall to bits with all their shaking and hollering. And when he finally came down, he said she plumb wore him out.”
Silence. Had she gone too far? She risked a glance around.
Sophia turned away, her hair lifting in obsidian waves on the breeze. But her shoulders shook, and those picture-perfect lips twitched into a smile—a first from the ice queen.
Then Temperance laughed, her teeth gleaming, and everyone huddled closer, as if to bask in the sound.
12. Sophia.
Standing there at Madam’s grave, Sophia had come within a hairsbreadth of confessing. The truth of Irene’s death—and of the Reverend Gray’s plan to take the Blossom—had dangled on her tongue, aching to break free. But then the others had started reminiscing, and they’d actually looked happy.
So she’d swallowed the words and locked them away, unwilling to take that away.
But as she trekked along, following the others back to town, the problem of the Reverend loomed larger than ever. In desperation, she tried to escape by losing herself in the view of the Klondike’s wilds.
&nb
sp; And wild they were. In the distance, lonely naked mountains reared up, scraping jagged dark teeth against a limitless turquoise sky. Beyond the peaks stretched ice and tundra and deathly, relentless winter. But at their feet, thick carpets of peat rolled through the valleys, mingling with purple swathes of fireweed and shimmering gilded ponds. Here and there, a few pines clustered together like spear-tips thrust into the earth. But mostly, wildflowers dominated the landscape, tossing in the breeze like a squalling patchwork sea. Each jubilant color seeped in, so radiant that awe almost overflowed Sophia’s eyelashes.
She sighed. Whatever had happened, whatever might come, this soothed her, at least. As she walked, she counted one breath, then a hundred, and watched the wildflowers dance at the edge of the world.
***
In town, an unfamiliar horse captured Sophia’s attention from a long way off. Hitched to the post outside the Blossom, the majestic black bay shone amid the mud and miners like a beacon. He sent her mind sliding into old, familiar patterns.
Flawless balance. Topline shorter than the underline, withers and hocks equal height. Perfect shoulder slope, even. Worth a small fortune.
Trembling, she punched the thoughts back down. Those were faraway, from-before words. Circus words.
Words Adrian would’ve used.
Sophia hadn’t let herself so much as think that treacherous name since leaving San Francisco. Now a fresh wave of hurt threatened, all the more cutting for the recent wound of Madam’s death.
Temperance murmured under her breath. “We have a visitor.”
Sophia stopped. Of course—the big black bay didn’t belong to any of them. Surreptitiously, she unbuttoned her sealskin coat and slid a hand in, finding the butt of a revolver. In the wake of the Reverend’s departure, she’d fashioned an old vest of Palmer’s into a bulky double holster, and now the Colts rarely left her side.
The Blossom’s door swung open and a man stepped out.
Sophia took in the scarlet tunic and navy pants, recognizing the tall, black-haired Mountie with the bizarre eyes.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she hastily rebuttoned her jacket.
The Mountie’s boots thumped on the raised boardwalk. He fiddled with his wheat-colored Stetson, his eyes locked on Temperance. “Miss Hyacinth.”
She nodded. “Corporal.”
Sophia looked from one to the other as a charged hum lingered in the silence. They already knew each other, of course, in the Biblical sense—he’d been in Temperance’s room that night. Still, something more seemed to quiver in the air.
The Corporal’s gaze flickered away. “Miss Sophia. I’ve come to speak with you.”
Shrugging, Sophia followed him inside. What he and Temperance were to each other was none of her business.
In the lavish parlor, the Corporal stood uneasily, as if loathe to set foot in a whorehouse. He took in the empty stage and silent hearth. “I’d like to speak privately. Where…?”
Sophia almost said, upstairs, but when she glanced over, Temperance’s black brows arched in question.
She sighed, not wanting any misunderstanding about her business with Temperance’s customer. “Follow me.”
***
In the homely kitchen, O’Cahill still didn’t relax. Turning his back on the iron stove and rows of labeled tins, he stood by the window. Through the wavy glass, he watched the Professor tend to the horses out back, and he stayed quiet long enough that Sophia began to fear his next words.
“The Superintendent has declared Irene Blumen’s death accidental.”
Air fled her lungs. She collapsed into a chair, trying to quell her tide of disappointment. What had she expected? For the Mounties to arrest a reverend on the word of a whore? “That’s it, then? No investigation?”
O’Cahill turned. “No. I spoke to the Reverend, so I did. He gave the names of two men with him that night: Henry Burnham and George Carmichael. I interviewed them both. They said he never went upstairs, that he only visited the house in an attempt to rescue Madam Blumen’s new girl from a life of sin.”
Oh, that angel-faced scum. “New girl? That’s me.”
“According to Henry and George, you told everyone to go to hell.”
A bitter laugh escaped. “Well, that is something I’d do. But it didn’t happen that way. Gray came upstairs. And he threatened Irene, made her fall. Surely there’s some sort of punishment for that.”
O’Cahill studied her until her throat tightened. She slouched, hoping her thick parka would conceal the outline of her guns. She wasn’t particularly interested in a tour of the jailhouse.
“What’s your purpose here at the Scarlet Blossom?”
She hesitated. Madam had cautioned her to claim she was a dancehall girl—just another woman who danced and drank with miners for a percentage of the tab. But O’Cahill’s question sounded like a test, and he had come out of Temperance’s room that night, which meant he understood exactly what happened within the Blossom’s walls.
Maybe she’d be touring that jailhouse, after all. “I’m a whore.”
He nodded, his shoulders lowering in…relief? Disappointment? She couldn’t tell. “And the others? Them, too?”
Was he asking about Temperance? Surely he already knew. Still, Sophia pursed her lips, silent. Though she wasn’t fond of Temperance, she wouldn’t put her in harm’s way, either.
“I suppose you’ll not be answering truthfully,” he said.
I suppose not. “Are you going to arrest me?”
“I should.”
“No, what you should do is arrest the Reverend Gray. He’s a criminal. A stain on the landscape.” Blinking, she leashed her tongue. Where had that come from?
O’Cahill crossed his arms. Liquid light from the window caught his eyes, kindling them into low blue flames. The effect was unsettling, at best. “Try understanding this from my side, Miss Sophia. A woman of the demimonde has accused a well-respected clergyman of manslaughter. Yet in a crowded room, she stands as the only witness. And two other men have supplied a credible alibi for the accused.”
Sophia’s jaw clenched. She hadn’t expected much else, but still, deep in her belly, barely restrained fury stirred.
“Though,” O’Cahill continued, “there’s something odd here, to be sure.”
She seized on that. “Something odd? Like what?”
“Henry and George agreed on every last detail. A too-perfect alibi, it was. As if they’d rehearsed it.”
Hope awakened, tender and sweet. “They probably had. Whoever they are, I never saw them that night. Gray came upstairs alone.”
O’Cahill nodded. “And the Reverend Gray has a way of answering questions without truly answering. I asked if he was an ordained clergyman. His answer? ‘I’m wearing a cassock. What do you think?’ Now, a less suspicious man would’ve dismissed it. Yet I’m more mistrustful than most.”
Sophia’s chest warmed. She hadn’t expected the Corporal to actually…care. He hadn’t seemed to, that morning in the hallway. Then, he’d only looked put off by her plea. But now, as he stood tall in his pristine uniform, he struck her as serious, not cold. “You think he lied? Without actually lying?”
O’Cahill nodded.
“That wily, goddamned bastard.”
O’Cahill offered a grim smile. “He should’ve simply said yes. Yet even then, the liars always give themselves away. They think a beat too long, or look in the wrong direction.”
Was that all it took? “Remind me never to lie to you.”
“An ill-advised choice, to be sure.”
She tried not to think about the Colts beneath her coat. “Why’re you telling me all this?”
“Because I’ve devoted my life to justice. It’s all I have left, anymore.” He broke off, chewing on a few silent words, and she wondered what he’d held back.
She studied his features. Everything about him was sketched in straight lines, from the angle of his jaw to the sweep of his nose. She found no softness in his face, except in t
he quiet shine of his ice-crystal eyes.
She’d thought him uncaring at first, but beneath the rigid exterior, he seemed haunted. As if, instead of caring not at all, maybe he cared too much.
In some small way, he reminded her of herself.
“I’d like to help you,” he said. “Truly. Yet the moment my Superintendent heard Gray’s name, he forbade me from pursuing the matter further. Which means the most I can do is tell you what I know.”
Hope of an ally abruptly guttered out. “Forbade you? Why?”
“The Superintendent doesn’t wish to expend our limited manpower investigating a well-respected member of the community.”
Sophia straightened, her fury renewed. “But Gray’s a confidence man. He’s cheating people.”
“How?”
“Well…” She opened her mouth and closed it, anger lodged within her throat. “I don’t know. I was hoping you would find out.”
The Corporal folded his tall frame into the opposite chair. “Here it is, Miss Sophia: I believe you. I’m thinking Gray uses his status to take advantage of people, and that he’s no true reverend. I even asked around, and found a miner who bought a claim from him some few months back. When the miner toured the land, gold dust seeped from the ground. Yet once the sale was made—for a small fortune, I might add—the stake produced nothing. It was worthless.”
Frustration welled. “See? He’s up to something. You just have to dig deeper.”
The Corporal seemed to drag his next words out by force. “My hands are tied, so they are. Gray never truly lied to me—George Carmichael and Henry Burnham did. And the sale of that claim was entirely legal.”
“Which means you can’t do anything?”
“Not without losing my position. I don’t like it any more than you do, Miss Sophia. Yet there it is. I’ve told you what I know. I’m afraid that’s all I can offer.”
The Wildflowers at the Edge of the World Page 7
