by Jillian Hart
He worked quickly, but her skirt and petticoat flopped about his face. “Do you mind…lifting your skirt a bit so I can…ah…see?”
Maggie colored to her ears. “Sure.”
It was entirely inappropriate to have his hands where they were. On the sly, he turned his head to look down the street. No one seemed to be watching what foolishness he’d gotten himself into, although the tinsmith and his young son passed on the boardwalk behind Maggie.
“Howdy,” said James, nodding and feeling as though he should give the man an explanation of what he was doing with his hands up Maggie’s skirts.
“Lovely afternoon for…for a walk,” replied the tinsmith.
Maggie nodded but didn’t look at the passersby, nor could she bring her heated gaze to James’s. Biting the side of her lip, she lifted her gray skirt to reveal a glimpse of white long johns stretched over curved, womanly legs.
With his pulse kicking, James quickly laced her up. She insisted on doing the other foot herself to get the hang of it, and he was grateful to be relieved of the delicate matter.
Her conversation came in nervous fire. “How long do you think it’ll take us to get there? Do you think we’ll have any luck getting new information at the fort?”
“It should take us less than an hour.” He tied up his own snowshoes then stood up tall beside her. “I hope we do have more luck at the fort, and I discovered a few little things about the situation at High River Landing that may pertain to the baby.”
“Please, tell me what.”
“Let’s get going and we’ll talk as we hike. Move up here beside me. That’s it. Now, ordinary walking and snowshoeing are almost the same. You’ll catch on quick. The difference is you have to raise your heel higher. Don’t plant your feet too far apart or you’ll get tired very quickly, and not too close together or you’ll knock your shins. Ready? Let’s go.”
After staggering with a few strides, Maggie tried moving with a broader sweep, watching and imitating him. He found it personally satisfying when she seemed to get her snow legs.
“Why did you ask me to come with you?” She asked the question several minutes later, after they’d cleared the stores and were heading over a field of snow. Squinting from the blasting whiteness, they could see the fort in the distance, shadowed by the Rocky Mountains. James’s eyes watered from the strain.
“Stop for a minute.” He reached into his pocket and removed two pairs of wooden-type spectacles he used as snow goggles. He’d carved them from light wood and always carried them in winter months. Instead of glass, they had tiny slits. “Put these on.”
“I’ve seen you wear these to protect your eyes.”
“We don’t want snow blindness. It comes on quickly if you’re not careful.”
Before she put them on, Maggie asked again. “You’re not avoiding my question, are you? Is the answer complicated? Why did you ask me along?”
His stomach muscles tightened. He sensed a thrill in being alone with Maggie, where he could watch her healthy body moving in the snow, where he might show her the splendor of a beautiful, solitary day in the wilderness.
“You don’t have to think too long. The answer’s always quite simple with me.”
She furrowed her forehead. “Why then?”
“Because sometimes, I just enjoy your company.”
Chapter Six
Maggie couldn’t see James, but she could hear him. The whoosh of his heavy breathing as they plodded through the snow mingled with her panting. Slightly ahead of him, she enjoyed the heat of the glistening sun, and warmth of the wind as it whisked the hairs at her neck.
If it weren’t for snowshoes, the trek would be impossible.
James caught up to her. “Watch out for the fallen branches to your left. Sometimes they’re just beneath the surface, ready to snag your foot.”
Maggie stopped, then walked around the cluster of fallen birch, leaving webbed footprints in the crusty virgin snow. “The storm must have knocked them down.”
The two of them stood along a forest’s edge embraced by snow-covered trees—trembling aspens and black cottonwoods.
She turned around for a moment to peer at the gentle slope below. The town of Goldstrike looked like a little village molded from clay, sitting in a wide river valley and cupped in the shadow of great mountains. Smoke rose from faraway chimneys. In the sky, a red-tailed hawk patrolled the ground for signs of field mice, and the caw of other birds beyond the treed slopes aroused Maggie to the beauty of nature. “No wonder you love it out here.”
James, brawny beneath his tan jacket and having to duck beneath the branches of a tall pine, gave her a curious look. “I like things peaceful.”
“Then why on earth would you choose to work as a Mountie?” She had difficulty understanding him. “I can’t think of anything less peaceful than having to break up family disturbances or chase a horse thief or haul off people in handcuffs. I’ve seen you do that once, you know. Apply handcuffs. It was earlier this year when Rufus Harper’s house burned down.”
“He committed arson by burning down his neighbor’s house, but it caught his as well. He deserved more than handcuffs.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to continue working as a trapper, as you did when I first knew you?”
“The Mounties needed men.” His voice grew tender, emphasizing his point, and doing odd things to her heart. “I went because they needed me.”
“You’re right,” she said gently, admiring him for his decency. “You do have simple reasons for doing things.”
“The more straightforward the better, wouldn’t you say?”
He turned in front of her. The expanse of his shoulders blocked the afternoon sun. “You’re more complicated. You need…you like a lot of people around you.”
“Is that how it looks to you?”
His dark hair rippled in a wave of warm wind. “That’s how it is.”
“And you don’t need anyone. Is that what makes you more straightforward?”
He frowned. “We’re different, that’s all. I was just noticing.”
She lifted her chin. “What else did you notice?”
James removed his snow glasses. Sunlight played in his dark eyes. He looked down at her lips, and she swore he was thinking about kissing her.
Blood rushed to her face. Her heart thundered in her ears. Taking a step sideways, she grabbed for a branch and tried to dispel the anxious moment. Staring down at Goldstrike, she ordered herself to stop daydreaming about his kisses.
When he spoke again, she couldn’t bring herself to look his way.
“I noticed that we see things differently when it comes to Christmas. You’ve got a store filled with every imaginable drawing of Saint Nicholas, globes of all colors to decorate the tree, dozens of samples of shortbread and even, I might add, handpicked elves who do your caroling.”
Maggie laughed. “They’re not elves, they’re children. And you make my store sound like it’s the wrong way to celebrate the season.”
“It’s not wrong. You bring a lot of good cheer to the folks in town. It’s only…my family never had much money to spend at Christmas.”
Something about the way he said these things made her feel targeted, as if he was judging her and her way of life.
Sheldon had once told her James’s history, how he’d grown up in the northern mines and that his family barely kept in contact. She wondered if it was only distance that separated them, or deeper troubles.
But James’s mention of the word money made her straighten her back. What was it with men and money that they always seemed to point it out about her and her store? She was proud to be a successful shopkeeper, proud that she could support herself and that she had enough left over to help her sisters clothe their children.
If James couldn’t get into the lively celebrations of Christmas, and if he looked down his nose at her and the rest of them, then she felt sorry for him. As for judging her, well, it’d been many years since she’d let a man infl
uence the way she thought.
Her cool tone deflected the hurt she felt. “What have you learned about baby Holly?”
James seemed stung by her brisk tone. He donned his snow glasses with a snap, as if communicating his disapproval of her. Stiffly, he looked back over the valley, then stepped away to get his bearings on his snowshoes.
She knew he didn’t approve of naming the child, either. It seemed he didn’t approve of much of what she did, which only made her more defiant.
“The coal mine twenty miles north of the burned-out cabin has been attracting a lot of new miners. Maybe the baby’s family was headed for the mines. And the lumber camp east of there had taken out an ad in eastern newspapers earlier in the fall for more men. It seems unlikely that anyone would be traveling in the dead of winter, for lumber or mining, but it’s a possibility. Or it could have been locals who stumbled on the ferry house then got trapped by the storm.”
“So you believe we should look for Holly’s family either at the lumber camps or the mines?”
James nodded. “That’s right.”
“That seems a fair deduction. But how do we know…what makes you think Holly’s parents are still alive?”
“There’s no knowing for sure. It’s gruesome to talk about in mixed company, but I checked the charred remains of the cabin.”
“And?”
“No bodies. Whoever was in there got out alive. Where they went, I haven’t a clue. But why they’d leave a baby behind is beyond reason.”
Maggie was still thinking about what James had said twenty minutes later as they entered the fort, but was unable to solve the puzzle. They left their snowshoes at the gatehouse and said howdy to several men in red uniform, then entered the barracks in search of Commander Collins.
“He’s in with the cook,” said the company clerk.
While they made their way to the kitchen, men’s voices carried down the hall. They were coming from the officers’ parlor, James told her. The men were singing “We Three Kings.”
Walking beside her, James hummed along and sang quietly, as if not fully realizing she was there. She enjoyed the tenor of his voice and strained to hear more. The fact that the quiet man sang was still something of a wonder.
“Why are they singing?” Maggie asked as they neared the door leading to the kitchen.
“They’ve formed a Christmas choir. Some of the men who can play instruments are creating a band.”
He must have seen the question in her eyes, for he added, “To pass away the time. Most of the enlisted men are single and don’t have family out West.”
The single men were lonely, she thought. “Are you a part of it?”
“No.” James laughed gently, pushing open a swinging door with a large, forceful hand. “No.”
They entered the massive kitchen.
The old cook looked up from his chopping block, doing some singing of his own as he hailed James. “Sergeant! Great idea of yours to form the choir. I haven’t sung this much since my Joy and I danced at our wedding. Of course, it wasn’t Christmas carols, but…anyway… Miss Greerson, how do you do today?”
“Fine, Mr. Rumley, thank you. I brought you something.”
Walking past the fragrant cauldrons of steaming soup, she reached into the inside of her wool jacket for an extra-large pouch. Untying the ribbon, she passed a bundle to the older gent.
He inhaled. “Ah, allspice.”
“I thought you could use more. We were short when you put in your last order but got a new shipment last week. Before the trains stopped running because of the ice, that is.”
The trains didn’t actually run through Goldstrike, but a lot farther north. Scouts brought provisions back and forth on a regular basis.
“Yes, indeed. Thank you kindly.” Mr. Rumley bowed. “Your timing’s perfect with the song. You are bearing gifts from Orient are.”
Maggie smiled at his twisting of the words. She was still amazed that it was James’s idea to form a choir and band, yet he wasn’t a participant.
They removed their coats while James asked about the commander. Maggie took a moment to glance around. Cloves of garlic, woven together, meshed with uprooted herbs that hung from the rafters and gave the entire west wall a rich, earthy scent. Although she’d never been inside the fort, Mr. Rumley was a frequent visitor to her store, and tiny reminders of the season found its way into his beloved kitchen. Sprigs of holly, dried peppermint leaves floating in water bowls and ornamental candles stood on the mantel above the wall-to-wall fireplace, where the soup was boiling. An oval mirror with a gold-plated frame of Saint Nicholas sat squeezed between two turnips.
“The commander was called away to practice his tuba.” Mr. Rumley watched her looking at the mantel. Returning to his chopping block, he diced an onion. Sadness crept into his face. “My late wife, Joy, used to love that mirror. Our granddaughter bought it when she was five, as a gift for her grandma.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “Darn these onions, they make me weep like a child.”
Maggie guessed what he was cooking as she breathed in a heavenly aroma. “Oxtail soup cooked in ale.”
“Oh, you are good.” Standing above one of the stoves, Mr. Rumley slid the chopped onions into four large frying pans. They sizzled in bacon fat. She marveled at the remarkable quantities required to feed a troop of men.
“Would you like to stay for supper? I’m sure the officers would appreciate sitting across from a lovely woman.”
“No,” said James. “We can’t stay.”
“You should learn to share,” joked Mr. Rumley, but it only caused Maggie and James to grow quiet.
Mr. Rumley looked from one to the other.
The commander burst in. He stood almost eight inches shorter than James, and thumbed his thick gray mustache. “The clerk said you were lookin’ for me. I heard there was trouble at High River Landing. What’s going on, Sergeant?” He nodded at Maggie. “Good afternoon, Miss Greerson.”
James explained where he’d been, how he’d been trapped by the snowstorm, then how he’d seen the fire and taken the baby.
“When I heard about a baby earlier today, I couldn’t believe it. I’ve spoken to everyone in the fort, but no one knows a thing about her.” The commander and his wife had four children of their own, ranging in age from two months to seven years. “Were there any clues at the site?”
“Nothing at the fire. The house had burned to the ground. The fortunate thing is there weren’t any bodies, so whoever was there had escaped. The storm wiped out all tracks.”
“What about signs of horses or sleighs?”
“In the forest about a quarter mile away, there were faint tracks of two horses and a sleigh. The trees protected the tracks from the wind. I can’t be sure how old they were, maybe weeks old. The ruts had sunk deep into the ground, so the horses were hauling something heavy.”
“You’ve never mentioned that before,” said Maggie.
“Because I’m not sure it’s connected to the fire. The forest has been logged, so it could have been someone removing a fallen tree for the lumber.” James reached into his pocket, twisting his lean physique. He removed a couple of items that he’d wrapped in brown paper, along with a small burlap sack. The sack had a thread of red string running along its upper edge, and orange markings along its lower.
“I found a tiny yellow bead, sir, in the snow outside the cabin door. And three long black hairs.”
Maggie frowned. “What’s their significance?”
“I’m not sure about the bead, but the hairs belong to dogs. I don’t have any huskies with partially black coats, so they’re not from my team.”
Maggie pressed her palms against the beaten-pine counter. “But if the baby’s family was traveling by dogsled, then where do the horse and sleigh tracks fit in?”
“That’s the puzzle.”
The four of them stood staring at the items in James’s hand, trying to force logic into their reasoning.
Maggie watched the cook pick up
his stained wooden spoon to stir the onions. “May I see the burlap sack?”
James swung it into her hand. She opened the sack and found two spoons, a linen napkin and various spices separated into different envelopes.
She sniffed each envelope. “No allspice.”
The men stared at her. “What does that tell us?”
“I use similar burlap sacks in my store. They might have bought these spices from me.”
“Every merchant from here to Vancouver uses these sacks.”
“But if they did buy from me…there’s cinnamon here, nutmeg and baking soda, but there’s no allspice. It’s a common Christmas baking ingredient. It’s made from the berry of a Caribbean tree. If they bought these spices from me, then whoever it was passed through town more than three weeks ago, when I was short of allspice.”
The commander ran his fingers through his mustache. “That’s a pretty outlandish deduction, miss.”
“It’s logical,” she insisted. “But it’s not certain.”
“It’s a stroke of genius,” said James.
“Hmm,” said the commander. “Why would someone leave a baby behind? That’s what I ask myself.”
“Maybe they didn’t know they left her behind,” Maggie offered.
“How could they not know?”
Maggie shrugged. It did seem ridiculous.
“Maybe they didn’t want her,” suggested James.
Maggie looked at him, horrified that he’d spoken the words she, too, was wondering.
“That doesn’t make sense,” said the commander, easing everyone’s concerns. “If they didn’t want her, there were plenty of other ways… She was well fed and looked after when you found her, which means they wanted her.”
Mr. Rumley cracked an egg into a pan. “Maybe the family was attacked in the cabin, by cutthroats or bandits who then set the house on fire.”
James shot holes into that idea. “But someone must have carried the baby into the spring house. What happened to that person?”
