Silent Stranger

by Darty, Peggy;

  “I feel sure you’ll end up with more money in this profession,” the stranger said.

  Ruth stared at the thin curl of smoke drifting up from the spout of the coffeepot, suffusing her pale cheeks with color. Keep talking, she silently pleaded. She loved his accent.

  Her father peered around the door, glancing at the coffeepot.

  “It’s ready,” she said.

  “Ruth, won’t you come in and join us?” He walked over to get the tray from the cupboard.

  Her eyes darted to him then back to the mugs. “All right.”

  Placing the mugs on a tray, along with spoons and sugar, she followed her father into the living room. The tray was a far cry from her mother’s silver service she had used so many times; a silver service in Dawson City would be subject to theft, not to mention the fact that it would look oddly out of place.

  Joe Spencer stood as she entered, almost startling her with his good manners. She placed the tray on the coffee table then straightened, dropping her hands to her sides.

  “Mr. Spencer, this is my daughter, Ruth Wright.”

  “How do you do?” she said, smiling at him.

  “Hello.” he nodded politely. “Thank you for the coffee.”

  “We don’t have cream,” she said, glancing back at the tray.

  “I drink it black. Since coming north, I’ve learned to be happy with the bare necessities. It suits me fine.” He spoke with confidence as his eyes lingered on Ruth. She turned to the tray.

  “And where is home for you?” Doc asked, leaning back on the sofa, studying him thoughtfully.

  “Richmond, Virginia,” he said. “Thank you.” His eyes met Ruth’s as she handed him a mug of coffee.

  His eyes were a clear, bright blue. He had thick brown brows and darker brown lashes, a slim straight nose, full lips, and a square chin. He was unquestionably the most handsome man she had seen in a very long time. If ever. She turned and handed her father his coffee, then took her mug and sat in the nearest chair, studying Joe Spencer over her mug.

  “How did you get all the way to Dawson from Richmond?” Doc asked curiously.

  “I went to California five years ago at the invitation of my uncle, who was working on a ranch out from San Francisco. I enjoyed the life of a cowhand for a few years, but after my uncle died, I left the ranch and went into San Francisco looking for work. I heard about the Klondike strike and decided I wanted to give it a try. So I worked as a carpenter and saved every cent I made until I could board the ship.”

  “You were wise to choose the ship rather than trying to cross Chilkoot Pass on foot as so many are doing.”

  Joe Spencer shook his head. “I had already heard horror stories about that route. A fellow I worked with at the lumber yard joined some guys who were going up in ’96. He almost died trying to get over the pass. He turned around and came home with tuberculosis and an amputated foot due to frostbite.”

  Doc nodded. “I fear we’re in for a winter of such maladies.” He paused, glancing over at Ruth. Then his eyes returned to Joe Spencer. “Did you come alone?” he asked.

  Ruth glanced at her father, thinking he was almost as curious as she was about this stranger with the southern accent.

  “I did, but I’ve made friends. In fact, one of my friends, Ivan Bertoff, will be going out to the mining district with me when I leave tomorrow.” His eyes drifted slowly to Ruth. “How do you like living here, Miss Wright?” he asked.

  Surprised by his question, she swallowed the hot coffee too quickly and almost choked. She kept her composure, however, as she licked her lips and looked at him. “I like it.”

  “It must seem quite a change from Seattle,” he said as his eyes drifted over her face.

  She reached up to push a lock of auburn hair back from her forehead. “It is, but I enjoy the satisfaction of helping others. My father is a wonderful doctor.”

  “I’ve already benefitted from his services.” He finished his coffee and came slowly to his feet. “I’ve imposed for long enough. I must get busy gathering the supplies I’ll need. What time would you like me to come in tomorrow?”

  Doc shrugged. “We don’t make appointments here. It’s first come, first serve.”

  Joe laughed. “Then I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned to Ruth. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

  Their eyes locked and Ruth felt something strange and different as she looked at Joe Spencer, something she had never felt before. “Thank you,” she said.

  He turned and nodded at Doc then headed for the door, hat in hand. Doc followed him back down the stairs as Ruth returned to the kitchen, trying to sort out her feelings. He had told them very little about himself. He hadn’t mentioned a wife, but how could a man so handsome reach—at least thirty years of age she guessed—and remain single?

  ❧

  Joe Spencer tried to ignore the ache in his back as he weaved his way through the crowd. Glancing around, he recognized some of the boat passengers, but many of the men on the street were obviously miners. With tanned faces and thick beards, they wore tattered clothing and surveyed the newly arriving people through narrowed eyes.

  He kept thinking of the Wrights and feeling a sense of regret that he wouldn’t allow himself to get to know them better. But he had to be careful; already, he worried he had told them too much. Still, there was something about them that made him feel at home and comfortable; he longed to enjoy their hospitality, take advantage of their kindness. But he would be taking advantage and he knew that; he could stay nowhere for long. The secrets in his past dogged him like predators; memories howled like the wolves on a cold night, and he had spent many cold nights alone in the woods, listening to the wolves howl.

  Joe located the Bank of British North America, which was actually a large tent with a board plank for a counter and an old trunk for a safe—both proof of how new Dawson City was. Joe’s eyes widened. Around the trunk, Joe spotted several sacks of gold on the sawdust floor.

  He reached deep into the pocket of his denim trousers and withdrew a deerskin bag of gold dust. He offered the bag to the assayer, wanting to convert some of his gold dust to cash for a deposit in the bank. For spending money, the common practice was to use gold dust. When an impressive sum had been opened in his account, he thanked the clerk and left.

  Just down the street he spotted the Alaska Commercial Company and entered. The store was a large, square room filled with shoppers milling about the counter, which ran the length of one side. Although the days were still long and the air was crisp but not cold, the potbellied stove in the corner held a low fire. Two well-dressed men from the boat were conversing with three miners, each hungry for news the other had to offer. Joe turned toward the shelves, consulting the list he pulled from the pocket of his shirt, and began to stack up the items: sugar, flour, salt, canned milk, beans, tea. He added a hefty slab of bacon then paused, glancing toward another array of shelves. Consulting his list again, he walked over to select a pick, shovel, and a metal pan. What other tools did he need? He frowned, trying to concentrate despite the boisterous crowd.

  Joe had been forced to leave his other supplies behind in Skagway, but he had brought what he needed most: the gold dust. He turned to the cashier and slowly withdrew another deerskin bag from the pocket of his denim trousers. He handed the bag to the clerk and waited; as he did, his eyes made a slow, careful sweep of the room. There were no familiar faces; Ivan still had not appeared.

  The clerk weighed the gold dust on scales positioned on a thick, black velvet cloth. Joe wondered how much gold dust ended up on that cloth by the end of the day. He watched the scales tip and noted the look of surprise on the clerk’s face. The man cast his eyes over the crowd and leaned toward Joe. “About ninety dollars,” he whispered.

  Joe nodded. “Will you total my supplies and see if this is enough?”

  Joe knew it would be. If not, there was another pouch of gold dust, but he needed that to survive through the winter.

  “Could you
tell me where I could obtain some good dogs?” he asked the clerk while the man packaged up his supplies.

  “Try Arvin Christensen. His place is on the south end of town, first road to the right. Has a white banner in his yard advertising his business.”

  “Thanks,” Joe said. “And what about a place to stay?”

  “Try Mattie’s Roadhouse. It’s the best we have to offer until the hotel is completed. She’s down at the south end, too, but you better hurry. With the boat coming in, she may be filled up already.”

  “Thanks again,” he said.

  His good luck was still holding when he obtained the last cot in the boardinghouse. The log structure was actually four large rooms with as many cots as Mattie could cram into each room. For the ladies who had accompanied their men, another room awaited them. This room was strictly for males, and already six were sprawled on the cots, snoring loudly.

  Joe pushed his supplies up under the cot and hesitated, wondering if it would be safe to leave them while he checked on the dogs. The ache in his back had intensified after carrying the load, and he could no longer pass up the cot. The dogs could wait, he decided, as he removed his boots and stretched out on the cot.

  When he closed his eyes, he saw Ruth Wright, and this surprised him. He had been impressed by her beauty—the fair skin that was enhanced even more by thick auburn hair and deep hazel eyes. And yet it was the depth he sensed in the woman that drew him even more. She had to be brave and adventurous—and unselfish—to accompany her father here to the frozen north. She obviously had no idea what was in store for her. No doubt, she would be on the first boat when spring breakup came and there was boat travel again.

  It didn’t matter, he told himself. He had a plan, and no woman would fit into his plan. Not ever again.

  two

  Ruth and Doc shared their simple meal in relative silence in the glow of the lantern. Doc had been in the process of buttering a biscuit when suddenly he laid down his knife and looked across the small table. “I hope the winter here won’t be too harsh for you. We haven’t yet experienced the cold and—”

  She put up her hand. “Father, I am no longer the forgetful young girl who dashes off without mittens or muff. I find Dawson exciting. And I’m very proud of what you’re doing here. Like you, I’m far more interested in seeing a sick person restored to good health than sitting by a cozy fire in Seattle, pricking my thumb with a needle.”

  He sighed, leaning back in the wooden chair. “We’re going to have some gruesome illnesses to treat. Frostbitten hands and feet, consumption, scurvy, perhaps even tuberculosis.”

  “Please.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I’m trying to enjoy my meal.”

  “Sorry.” He grinned, acknowledging her mock humor. “Do you think we have enough food to last the winter?” he asked suddenly.

  “You are determined to be a worrywart, aren’t you?” she gently scolded.

  His brow was creased with concern as he glanced toward the wooden shelves behind the pantry curtain.

  “We can’t crowd one more item on those shelves, Father. I’d say we could live comfortably for two years!”

  He sighed. “It’s just that once the Yukon freezes over, which will be soon, there will be no more boats coming in. We’ll be cut off from the outside world. There’ll be no—”

  “Father, I’m not worried,” she said quickly, wanting to turn his thoughts in another direction. “If a stocked pantry had been of primary importance, I would have married William Manchester and grown fat and bored with him.”

  He did not laugh, as she had expected. He merely stared at her for a moment, as though trying to be certain she meant what she was saying.

  She tilted her head and stared at him. “Why won’t you believe that I really wanted to come here? That I didn’t make the trip just for you?”

  Slowly, a weary smile tilted his lips and some of the age in his face faded. “I want to believe that. But I keep thinking that you didn’t want to hold me back; you knew I wouldn’t leave you behind unmarried. And if you wouldn’t marry William—”

  “Father.” she threw down her napkin as her temper began to flare. “William Manchester may have been considered attractive and well educated by a lot of Seattle women, but I did not love him. And I knew I never would. I want to feel what you and Mother felt for one another.” she bit her lip, lost in thought.

  Tears glistened in her father’s hazel eyes before he quickly lowered his head. “I pray that you will have that someday,” he said quietly. “To be truthful, I will never get over losing your mother. This adventure to the Klondike has been good for me, but I still long for Mary Ruth every day of my life.”

  She swallowed hard and her temper vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “I miss her, too, Father, but we have to go on. We’re doing a good work here, a Christian service to these people, which must please Mother to no end. You know she is watching from heaven,” she added softly, thinking she would read from her mother’s Bible at bedtime.

  “Yes,” he said, unashamedly wiping the tears from his eyes. “And I’m glad you didn’t marry William if you didn’t love him.”

  “I didn’t. He was aggressive, overpowering, and opinionated. I’ll tell you something else, which I hope will end this discussion once and for all. I was certain that William would miss the benefits of his clubs and social events more than he would miss me; still, I decided to put him to the test. I told him if he really loved me, I’d like him to accompany us to the Klondike. I even promised to return with him in a year. He was quick to agree with me that this was not the life for him. So you see, if he had really loved me, he wouldn’t have backed down so easily.”

  Doc nodded. “You’re absolutely right.” Something flashed in his eyes as he studied her face. “What did you think of Joe Spencer?”

  She fought the color rising on her cheeks, telegraphing her feelings. “I don’t know him, so how could I make a judgment?” She got up from the table, clearing away the dishes.

  Her father stood, too, chuckling softly.

  “Why are you laughing?” she whirled on him.

  “I just had an amusing thought, that’s all. I’m going downstairs to look through one of the new journals that came in by boat.”

  With that, he had disappeared, leaving her to her thoughts. She stared at the fluffy biscuits remaining in the pan and thought of Joe Spencer. What was he doing at this hour? Was he at the Bonanza Saloon like so many other men? Or was he already settled in someplace for the night?

  After cleaning the kitchen, she picked up the mug that she had set apart from the others, the mug that Joe Spencer had held. Her slim fingers traced the round curve of the mug, relishing the thought that his lips had touched the enameled surface. Shaking herself back to reality, she quickly put the mug in the cabinet and went to her bedroom.

  As she undressed and prepared for bed, she picked up her mother’s Bible and turned the wick up on the lantern. She opened the Bible to Psalm 119, which had been one of her mother’s favorites. Her eyes skimmed down the verses and lingered on those she had marked.

  “Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against thee.

  Blessed art thou, O Lord: teach me thy statutes.

  With my lips have I declared all the judgments of thy mouth.

  I have rejoiced in the way of thy testimonies, as much as in all riches.

  I will meditate in thy precepts, and have respect unto thy ways.

  I will delight myself in thy statutes: I will not forget thy word.

  Deal bountifully with thy servant, that I may live, and keep thy word.

  Open thou mine eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of thy law.”

  Ruth paused, staring at the next verse, which seemed so appropriate for her.

  “I am a stranger in the earth: hide not thy commandments from me.”

  She stopped reading and stared into space. She was a stranger to this country, to this way of life. There were times she felt frig
htened by that, although she would never admit as much to her father. But now this verse had given her comfort. She knew the word of God. She had grown up at her mother’s knee, having the Bible read to her. It had always been a source of comfort to her, and just reading the verses from her mother’s Bible tonight had given her such peace and joy.

  She closed the Bible and smiled to herself, basking in the radiance of God’s love.

  Ruth returned the Bible to the nightstand and blew softly into the globe, extinguishing the flame. Snuggling deeper under the quilts, she closed her eyes and said her prayers. Her last thought before she drifted into sleep was that she was more grateful than ever that she had not married William Manchester.

  ❧

  The next morning Ruth took extra care as she chose a favorite green dress of soft wool topped by the fashionably high, stiff collar. She even resorted to her corset today, for the special liniment her father had ordered had been delivered last night. When Joe Spencer came to their clinic, her father would check his back and apply the liniment again. And she wanted to look appealing. She had been grateful to learn that Joe had paid cash for her father’s services. That was always a relief.

  Her father was willing to take anything as payment from his patients, ranging from a sick dog to a lame mule. This held true regardless of how many times he had seen the patient or the extent of his care for that patient. The next needy miner who came to his door would more than likely be the recipient of the dog or mule. Failing all else, he even wrote No Charge on certain charts. He was a good Christian man, unable to turn a needy soul from their door.

  The temperature had dropped below freezing in the night, and her fingers were stiff with cold as she fumbled for a ribbon. Tossing her auburn hair back from her face, she gathered it into one thick mass. She slipped the ribbon under her hair and pulled it tight, tying it into a bow at the nape of her neck.

  Her father was an early riser, and he had left coffee for her on the stove. She had covered the leftover biscuits from last night, and now she plucked one from the pan, enjoying its fluffy taste. She poured herself a mug of coffee and sat down at the table, trying to organize her thoughts. It was not yet eight, and there were no patients downstairs, so she devoted her energy to preparing a stew that could simmer in the Dutch oven until lunch. Her potato stew was usually good, so she went to the cabinet, jammed with food, and retrieved some potatoes and located a paring knife. Humming to herself, she went to work.