He bumped into a low-hanging branch of a fir tree, ducked to go under it and found the perfect place. The fir made a triangle with the two doors, and the feathery branches would hide him from the sight of anyone approaching the cabin. He shivered, pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck, and sat, leaning his back against the trunk of the tree in as comfortable a position as the pain in his shoulder would allow. The weight of the pistol in his right pocket skewed the bottom of his jacket sideways. He tugged the jacket into place and pulled his knees up, letting the pistol rest in the V his body formed.
His shoulder throbbed, his arm ached. He stared through the branches at the cabin. The windows were dark. Was Viola able to sleep? Or was she in too much pain? His muscles twitched with the desire to go to her, to hold her and comfort her. His heart hurt with the desire to have her safe in his arms. But that was never to be. Love had never been a possibility between them because of his commitment to the Tlingits. And it was out of the question now. But he would still watch over her. No matter what she was, she didn’t deserve to be beaten.
You’re going to have to stay in town again until it’s healed. And that may take quite some time.
He sucked in air, expelled it. Did it again. What did it all mean? Everything that had happened—his finding that injured miner and bringing him to the clinic the day Goldie was kidnapped; Viola running into him when she was looking for Mack Tanner; his being wounded and forced to stay in her cabin and accept her care; the uneasiness that had sent him to her cabin tonight and now this new injury to his wound that would keep him in town again. Was it all coincidence? Was it all so that he was here tonight to protect her? What did it mean?
He scrubbed his hand through his hair, glanced up through the branches to the purple and gold midnight sky, then again fastened his gaze on Viola’s cabin. Every time he went back to his work with the Indians and the miners, something brought him back to Treasure Creek. Was God leading him onto a new path? Or was it all for Viola’s sake? What if he hadn’t been here tonight?
He took a breath, shoved his hand in his pocket and clasped the grip of the pistol.
Viola a prostitute.
The acrid churning in his gut started all over again.
Chapter Fifteen
“I did not steal any money from Richard Dengler, Sheriff.” Viola formed her words as best she could. Her lips had become more swollen, her bruised facial muscles stiffer overnight. She ignored the pain in her ribs, kept her back straight and refused to look away, lest Ed Parker think her reluctance to meet his steady gaze was caused by guilt, not shame. “He never paid me the…wages…he promised me. Not in five years.” She took a breath, kept her head high despite the roiling sourness in her stomach. “I took the money owed me when I left. Not a penny more. I want nothing from that man.”
Ed Parker nodded, frowned. “Did he ask about Goldie’s gold?”
“Yes. When I told him I did not have the money he accused me of stealing, he said he would take Goldie’s gold in place of it.”
“Did he threaten Goldie?”
She clenched her hands, massaged the scar and waited for the tautness in her throat to ease. “He told Dolph to get her. I tried to bar his way. I told him to leave Goldie alone, that I would give him the gold, but it wasn’t here.”
“That when he did that to you?” He fastened his eyes on her face, dipped his head.
“Dolph? Yes. He…threw me against the wall.” The bands around her chest and throat tightened. The old feeling of suffocating made her heart pound. She tried to breathe normally. “Dengler had already…hit me. They both hit me again…later.”
“When you tried to warn Thomas to run?”
She nodded, blinked to hide the tears stinging her eyes. “Yes. And when I…tried to stop Dolph from…going into the kitchen.”
“You thought Hattie and Goldie were hiding in there?”
She nodded again, tugged at the collar of her dress, managed a shallow breath, then another.
“Well, that all fits with what Hattie, Thomas and Frankie told me. And that’s enough for me to have those plug-uglies locked up over to Skaguay for quite a while. And when their time’s done there, I’ll personally see to it they’re put on a ship back to Seattle. And the mayor and I will let the ferry and supply boat captains know they’re never to give them passage to Treasure Creek again—lest they want their boats barred from our harbor. We don’t need Dengler’s kind hanging around our town.” He hesitated, turned his hat in his hands, then looked down at her. “I got one more question. Has Dengler got any more men like Dolph working for him, or is he the only one?”
The sourness swirled upward, pushed at her throat. She shuddered, rubbed her palms on her skirt. “Karl. Karl and Dolph usually…work together.”
“What’s this Karl look like? He as big as Dolph?”
“No.” She closed her eyes, fought to control the shivers shaking her. “He’s a small, wiry man with dark hair and a scar on the back of his left hand. He…he likes to use a knife.”
The sheriff rose, his giant frame towering over her. “You’re a brave woman, Viola, trying to protect Hattie and the baby and Thomas like that. Special when you knew what it would cost you. You’ve got my word you won’t ever have to worry about them two coming around again. And I’ll be looking around for Karl. He won’t be any too pleased if I find him skulking around our town.”
She looked up at him and nodded. Perhaps he would find Karl and she wouldn’t have to be so afraid.
He slapped his hat on and walked out the door.
She rose, hurried over to throw the lock in place then headed for the kitchen, froze. He had called her brave. And not once—not once—had he condemned her for what she had been.
“Send whoever it is away, Hattie.” Viola winced, raised her hand to cup her jaw. She was in no condition to face anyone. Not that she would be able to hide from their censure for long. But she hoped to avoid any confrontation until her face was back to normal and she could speak properly.
“Who’s there?” Hattie dipped her head, listened, then threw back the lock and opened the door.
“Hattie!” Viola jumped to her feet and hurried to the kitchen to hide. Footsteps, too quick and light to be Hattie’s, sounded behind her. She stiffened her spine, turned.
Teena stepped into the doorway and stopped. Sunlight from the window gleamed on her long black braids, the strings of colored beads dangling from her ears. “I heard.”
Thomas. Her stomach sank. Viola rubbed her palms against her long skirt, feeling betrayed. Not that she had any right to. “Thomas told you?”
Teena’s long braids swung side to side. “No. Though when Jacob was tending him I knew his heart wanted to speak.” Her dark eyes warmed with compassion. “Many are talking. Some with cruel words and mean spirits, others with kind words and good hearts.” She moved forward, set the basket she carried on the table. “I have come to help. There are plants and leaves that will take away the swelling and heal the cuts so they will not leave a mark.”
Viola swallowed back the tears that were choking her throat. She had expected judgment, not this kindness. She drew a breath to steady her voice. “If you could…” She looked toward the living room, waited until she got control. “Goldie is afraid of me.”
“Her heart is too young to understand.” Teena looked down and began unloading her basket. “I will need hot water.”
She nodded, pulled the teapot forward over the coals in the stove and turned to the table. Teena had set her empty basket aside and was taking herbs out of small leather bags and placing them in a bowl.
She reached out and touched one of the bags. “These are the same as the miners use to hold their gold.”
“Yes.” Teena took some larger leaves from one of the bags and held them in her palm. “This is my gold.” The leaves went into a tall, narrow crock. “Gold sometimes makes men do cruel, hurtful things to others. But my gold is only for healing. You will see.” She crushed the herb mix
ture with her fingers. A pungent aroma filled the kitchen. “These will take away the soreness and swelling and help the cuts to heal. This will make them hold on.” She uncorked a bottle, poured in a bit of thick liquid and stirred the mixture with her finger. “You will please sit down and look up at me.”
Teena’s touch was quick and gentle. Even so, pain pulsed in the swollen flesh and cuts on her face. She tried to concentrate on what Teena was doing, but the question that had sprung to her lips when Teena arrived would not be denied. “I was wondering about Thomas. Is he all right? His shoulder, I mean.”
Teena glanced at her, then picked up a pair of scissors and snipped a small piece of gauze bandaging material off a roll. “The muscle in his shoulder was injured again. But it will mend when time passes.” The bandage was gently placed over the herbal paste covering the deep gash at her temple. Teena lifted the steaming teapot, poured the hot water onto the leaves in the tall, narrow crock, then cut another piece of bandage and applied it over the herb-plastered cut on her jaw. “It is Thomas’s heart that bears the deepest pain. I think your heart carries the pain, also.”
She caught her breath, looked up and met Teena’s soft, compassionate gaze.
“I do not know of any herbs for that pain.” Teena touched her swollen, split lips with the herbal paste. “Your cuts I can heal. Thomas’s shoulder, Jacob can heal. But I think it is only God who can heal your wounded hearts.”
Thomas stepped off the porch and strode around behind the boardinghouse to cut across lots to the school. He had to get away from the crowded waterfront before he forgot he was a missionary. Evelyn Harris had done her work well. Rumors about Viola had been flying around town all day. And they were spreading among the host of stampeders swarming about the waterfront with the speed of news of a rich strike in the gold fields. There was no way he could stop the gossip, but every lascivious comment he overheard made him wish his shoulder was in good shape and he had an occupation instead of a calling.
He skirted the stone wall around the hotel property, remembered the way Viola had looked when he left her there the day he had moved to the boardinghouse. He clenched his jaw, shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and stepped off the wood walkway into the dirt road. His long strides took him past the school and the church and a small, newly built house on the corner. He turned right and strode down the intersecting road, beyond the clustered cabins and on into the trees at the base of the mountain.
Silence greeted him. His boots crushed dried leaves and pungent fir needles, pressed the musky odor from the forest floor. It should have calmed him. It always did. But not now.
He’d never felt this way. Never in his whole life. It was as if his insides were boiling like a volcano, spewing out a dark, hungry rage. He wanted to pummel someone. Dengler. He wanted to rip Dengler apart with his bare hands for what he had done to Viola.
How could she?
It stopped him. Stopped him cold—his movement and his thoughts. He stood there in the quiet of the forest and suddenly knew that was the truth he must face if he was ever to have peace. Not Dengler. Not Dolph. Viola. She had worked as a harlot. Sold herself to men for money. That knowledge was the pain he wanted to tear from his own heart. He lifted his head, looked up at the light filtering down through the branches and took a long, deep breath. “How could she, Lord? How could she?”
The sense of betrayal brought a fury so strong it shook him. But it was of his own doing. He had put her on a pedestal. In his heart, she was equal to the virtuous woman in the Psalm. And her fall from that elevated place was tearing him apart. Viola had not changed. It was his image of her that had splintered. It was clear from what he had overheard Dengler say that she had left her past behind. It was he that must now let it go.
He sank to his knees on the soft earth, faced his own sin and ran to the One who could cleanse him, who could make him whole again. “God, I have judged without knowledge, and blamed without cause. I have sinned against Viola and against You, Lord. I have broken Your word by standing in judgment on another. Forgive me and cleanse me, I pray. And help me, Lord, to accept…and to forgive.”
The rockers whispered against the floor, the sound soothing to her strained nerves. Viola glanced at Goldie, sucking on her thumb, sleeping so soundly. She rose from the rocker and went to her knees beside the cradle, touched Goldie’s silky, brown hair, her tiny, fisted hand. Who was Goldie’s father? Why had he left Goldie in her care?
Please take care of her until I can—if I can—make it back home. Use this gold to care for her. I know I can trust you. The note he had left with Goldie proved he did not know her. The acrid taste of bitterness formed on her tongue. He never would have left his baby in her care if he had known what she was. But he would not be sorry. She had given the gold nuggets to Mack Tanner for safekeeping against Goldie’s future. Cold knots twisted in her stomach. Thank goodness the gold was not here for Dengler to find. That it was safe for Goldie’s care if—tears blurred her vision—if she must leave her. Oh, God, help me to know what is best for Goldie. Should I go or should I stay?
The knock on the door sent her heart slamming against her ribs. She pushed to her feet, hurried to the bedroom doorway and watched as Hattie came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on the apron that spanned her thick body. She pressed her hand to the base of her throat and bit back words of admonition. Hattie knew not to open the door to—
Another sharp rap made her jump.
“Hattie! Viola! It’s me, Frankie.”
The muffled words made her knees go weak. She smoothed back the curls that had escaped the ribbon that imprisoned her long hair at the nape of her neck and stepped out into the living room. She didn’t want to wake Goldie.
“Hey, Viola.” Frankie dropped a blanket-wrapped bundle on the floor and crossed the room to gaze at her. A smile curled the corners of her mouth. “Looks like Teena’s been here.”
She nodded.
Frankie chuckled. “Sort of hard to talk with that stuff stuck on your lips, huh?”
The hard knots in her stomach loosened. Trust Frankie to make her feel better. “Yes.”
“Well, if Teena got up that concoction, it for sure ought to work.”
She nodded. “The cuts hurt less already.”
“Swellin’s gone down, too.” Hattie turned, headed back for the kitchen, looked over her plump shoulder. “Supper’s late tonight, what with one thing and another. We’re havin’ soup. You’re welcome to stay, Frankie.”
“That all right with you, Viola?”
It was very all right. She felt safer with Frankie around. “Please do.”
Frankie nodded, cleared her throat. “I come for a purpose, Viola. I thought maybe I could sleep here on your settle for a couple of nights. I’d feel better, seeing as how your pistol hasn’t come in yet. That be all right with you?”
She stared at her, shocked beyond comprehension. “You want to stay here? With me?”
Frankie’s chin jutted out. “That’s what friends do, help out when there’s a problem. Ain’t it?”
Friends. Her throat tightened. Tears welled. She swallowed hard, nodded.
“Good. I brought my gear in case you said yes.” Frankie walked over, picked up the bundle she had dropped and carried it to the settle.
Viola used the time to get her frayed emotions back under control.
“I got news.”
Her heart lurched, then settled back to its normal rhythm. Frankie sounded happy. “What is it?” She braced herself just in case.
“First off, Teena and Doc Calloway went to Skaguay and got married this afternoon.”
“Truly!” She winced, pressed her fingertips to her lips. “I knew they were planning to marry, but—”
“About time if you ask me.” Hattie appeared in the kitchen doorway, shot her a look. “Any fool could see those two loved each other. Where they gonna live?”
“In Doc’s room at the clinic. Teena moved her stuff in before they took the ferry. Guess they
want to be there in case there’s an emergency or something.”
Her thoughts winged off to Thomas alone in his hut. A jolt of envy shamed her.
“You said, ‘first off’—” Hattie glanced into the kitchen, looked back. “I’ve a pot about to boil over. What’s the other news?”
Frankie’s face turned into one huge grin. “I’m a deputy!”
She stared, reached up and held her lips again when she started to smile. “I’m so happy for you, Frankie!”
“About time for that, too, I’d say.” Hattie went back to the kitchen.
“What happened? How did this come about?”
Frankie’s grin died. “Ed said I handled myself real good last night, sneaking in the back and knocking Dengler cold with that tree branch.”
She looked at the kitchen doorway and shuddered. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you, Frankie—”
“No thanks needed, Viola.” A blush crept into Frankie’s cheeks. Her freckles looked larger and darker. She looked down at the settle, fussed with her bundle.
She had never seen Frankie look so uncomfortable. She motioned her friend to follow her, stepped into her bedroom and turned to face her. “What is it, Frankie? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s special right.” Frankie looked back toward the kitchen, then faced her, happiness glowing in her blue eyes. “I been doing like you told me, Viola. You know, dressing more girly and asking Ed for help and all. And he’s been coming around some. Then, last night, after we got those owl-hoots jailed, Ed said he was peacock proud of me, and, well…I been wanting that so long I got these silly tears in my eyes.” She gave an awkward little wave, looked down. “Ed put his arms around me—to comfort me like—and then, well, one thing sorta led to another.” A deep blush swept across Frankie’s freckled cheeks. “Next thing I knew, Ed asked me to be his bride. I said, yes. Me! Frankie Tucker. I’m getting married, Viola.”
Gold Rush Baby (Alaskan Brides) Page 14
