Silent Stranger

by Darty, Peggy;

  “I think it’s best if I just speak plainly,” he said, abandoning all efforts at romance. Ruth had already decided Arthur was not the romantic type and she was disappointed by that realization, but she tried to tell herself other things were more important, given their situation.

  “Arthur, it will soon be dark,” she said in a rush. “I need to get home. Could we talk about this tomorrow?”

  “I need to say it now. Will you marry me?”

  The question fell into the tense silence as he stared bleakly at Ruth. She stared back, unable to respond.

  “I wish our circumstances were different. If we were in Victoria, I would take you to the gardens, we would have tea and a lovely meal. But we aren’t in Victoria,” he sighed, “we’re in a rough mining town where half the town may starve before the winter is out. The other half may freeze to death. I want to protect you. I think it only makes sense for us to be together through this, don’t you agree?”

  Ruth sighed, dropping her gaze to the floor. She had considered, more than once, accepting his proposal when it came; but now that it had, she felt no excitement, not even a tiny spark of pleasure over the prospect of marrying him.

  “Arthur,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “I’m afraid I cannot commit to marriage just because it makes sense.” Slowly, she lifted her eyes and looked at him, pleading with him to understand. “I would like to think that if we were in Victoria, enjoying the beauty, cast in a different mood, a different atmosphere, I might be more inclined to accept your proposal. But. . .” She couldn’t bring herself to reject his proposal; the words were too difficult. Yet she didn’t need to say more for he seemed to understand. She watched the disappointment slip over his features. “I want you to know I have the highest respect for you,” she quickly added. “I admire your work, and I like being your nurse.”

  He sighed heavily and looked at her with sadness. “So what is the problem, aside from our having to be practical? And we do have to be practical, Ruth. We are in a very difficult situation here, one that is not likely to improve until the winter ends. People are marrying for less important reasons—to have a roof over their head, for example, or the assurance of food for the winter.”

  She nodded. “I know that. But you see, Arthur, I already have a roof over my head and food for the winter. For that reason, I do not feel compelled to rush into a lifelong commitment simply because it seems the logical thing to do.” She took a deep breath. “I need something more than that, Arthur. And I’m not saying I won’t find it with you. It’s just that the timing is wrong.”

  His expression brightened. “I see what you’re saying, and I think you have a valid point. We do not want to make a decision in haste. You owe that to your father, and I owe it to Katherine’s memory, as well.”

  Ruth nodded, aware that Arthur still grieved over Katherine. That was the other thing. She did not want to be a rebound romance, someone who was grabbed in desperation to fill a lonely void in a man’s heart. She wanted to be loved based on who she was as a person. She wanted the kind of love that was built on Christian principles and based on respect and need, but she also wanted to feel a glow in her heart. Furthermore, she wanted to look in the mirror and see joy in her eyes, the joy that she had seen on her mother’s face. Perhaps it was an unlikely dream, given her circumstances; perhaps that kind of love didn’t come to everyone. Perhaps her parents got lucky.

  “We’ll talk about this at another time,” Arthur said tactfully. “Now shall I walk you home?”

  Ruth looked out. It was almost seven o’clock and completely dark. The hours had flown by during the afternoon, as the clinic had been overflowing with patients and she couldn’t abandon Arthur. But now, looking out, she knew better than to venture down the streets alone, with so many miners and drifters overflowing the saloons, hungry for a woman—any woman.

  “Yes, Arthur, I would appreciate your walking me home.”

  He seemed grateful to be awarded the opportunity.

  “Bear in mind,” he said as they trudged back in the cold, “that I have the funds to buy your house, and we could set up a better clinic there. There wouldn’t be any major adjustments for you. You would be working in the same surroundings as with your father. It could be very simple, Ruth. Very uncomplicated.”

  “And very practical,” she said, trying to see his face through the cold darkness. “Maybe it’s absurd, Arthur, but it just seems a bit too practical.” She sighed. “I suppose I’m a foolish romantic who has read too many Dickens’ novels. I’ll take into consideration what you have said to me this evening. And I want you to know that I am flattered that you care enough for me to marry me.”

  “Thank you,” he said, pressing her arm gently as they climbed the steps to her front porch.

  Arthur had never touched her, other than linking his arm through hers to assist her in maneuvering her way over the uneven boards of the sidewalk, to ascend the steps. This time it was different. As he took her key and unlocked the door, he reached out for her, impulsively it seemed, and planted a cold kiss on her lips.

  Ruth tried to respond but found it impossible. She merely smiled and touched his cheek with her gloved hand. “Good night,” she said as she stepped inside and closed the door. Quickly, she lit the lantern in the hall, trying to ward off the terrible thought that had rushed to the foreground of her confused mind.

  Arthur had kissed her and she felt nothing. Joe Spencer had merely looked at her and her heart had started to beat faster. Furthermore, when she was with Joe, something stirred in her soul, something responded in a way she could neither understand nor rationalize. Feelings; how strange and deceptive they were. How could she pass up a man who cared for her, who had so much to offer her for the hope of a man who had offered nothing, not even proof that he had any feelings for her beyond a polite friendship?

  seven

  Joe and Ivan had worked together for weeks in the bitter cold, the only sound between them the creak of the windlass that passed from beneath the frozen ground to the top. Their hard labor had begun to pay off, however, for on the snow-covered ground there had been piles of gold-filled gravel days before. Now the gold had been filtered out, sacked up in bags, waiting to be taken into Dawson. At last there would be money to reward them for their efforts.

  “Don’t you want to go into town with me tomorrow?” Joe asked Ivan as they wearily spooned up their beans that evening.

  Ivan shook his head. “I do not like people.”

  Joe chewed his food, staring across at the big man whose bald head gleamed in the glow of the lantern. “Then I’ll collect the money and return.”

  Ivan looked across at him, saying nothing.

  “Do you trust me?” Joe asked.

  Ivan nodded, turning back to his beans.

  ❧

  The next day as Joe rode into Dawson loaded down with a bulky pack of laundry and his rifle, he was shocked by the mood of melancholy that enveloped the town. The sight of thin dogs and slab-ribbed mules first greeted him. Then he noticed the grim-faced men moving briskly toward their tents. Scraping the mud and sand of the Yukon from his boots, he opened the door of the Alaska Commercial Company, where the tension of the town was being verbalized.

  “It’s the truth!” a voice bellowed as Joe entered.

  The clerk behind the board counter had the gathering of men around the potbellied stove captivated.

  “Ya mean to tell us,” an older gentleman spoke up, “that if we’d taken free passage to Fort Yukon, the same thing could have happened to us?”

  “Sure could of,” the clerk answered.

  “Hello.” A female voice spoke up behind him.

  Joe turned and looked down at Ruth Wright, standing directly behind him. Removing his hat, he smoothed down his hair and wondered about the rugged state of his appearance.

  “Hello. How are you?” He smiled at her.

  She looked as though she had lost more weight, although it was difficult to tell, for she was bundled in a
black woolen cloak. Still, her cheeks were hollow and the shine was gone from her wide-set hazel eyes.

  “I’m okay,” she answered in a firm voice. “And you?”

  The raucous conversation practically drowned out their words. Glancing back at the men then at Ruth, he took her elbow and they walked toward a quiet area in the rear of the store.

  “I just got to town,” he said, glancing at the men whose faces were flushed with emotion. “Could you tell me what they’re discussing? Everyone seems to be upset.”

  Ruth nodded, glancing back at the group. “This fall the Weare dropped its fare to fifty dollars per person with the hope of encouraging some of the residents here to leave for the winter. We’re already short of everything from food to supplies. When only a small number of people left on the Weare, the government offered free passage on the Bella to anyone who would leave Dawson and winter in Fort Yukon.”

  Her eyes returned to him, and she looked even sadder than before. “Unfortunately, the Weare couldn’t get through the ice blocks near Fort Yukon. Passengers were loaded into small boats, but even those were blocked by the ice. Finally, the people anchored the boats at the edge of the forest, got out, and walked for three days to reach Fort Yukon. When they arrived, frozen and starved, they discovered a shortage of food there, just as here.”

  Joe shook his head. “That’s terrible.” He glanced back at the group of men who had become silent, staring glumly into space.

  “What Mr. Carson was saying when you walked in was that some of those people who reached Fort Yukon pulled guns on the clerks at the Alaska Commercial Company there and demanded clothes and food. I guess they were desperate.”

  Joe had been listening to her words, while mentally sighing with relief that he now had gold to outfit himself and Ivan.

  “What about you?” he asked suddenly. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

  She looked startled by his question for a moment; then she shook her head and tried to smile at him. “No, I have enough. What about you?”

  “I’m fine,” he answered, looking into her troubled eyes. Her question and the concern in her eyes melted his heart. He forgot everything he had told himself about why he wouldn’t bother to see her on this trip. She was standing before him, speaking to him in that kind voice that seemed to reach to the depths of his soul. A surge of tenderness for her rushed back.

  “Look, I believe I owe you a meal or two. Is there any place in town that serves decent food?”

  She smiled, a bit more cheerfully this time. “I do.”

  “I agree. You serve the best. What I had in mind was treating you this time—unless there’s some reason you can’t join me,” he added, remembering Dr. Bradley.

  She shook her head, and the hood toppled back onto her shoulders. He couldn’t resist staring at her lush auburn hair.

  “No, as it happens, I left the clinic early. I’m helping Dr. Bradley,” she explained quickly.

  Joe did not respond to the reference to her work. He wanted to keep the conversation away from his competition.

  ❧

  Ruth bathed and dressed for her date with Joe—date? she wondered. Her hand hesitated on her black silk dress as she pondered the question. Was this really a date? They were simply having a meal together, the voice of logic argued. Never-theless, Joe had invited her out for a meal. In Seattle, that would be considered a date.

  Humming softly to herself, she finished dressing then turned before the mirror, surveying her reflection. She was still grieving for her father, of course, and wore black; but she decided to forgo the usual dress of flannel, which most women in Dawson now wore for warmth, and chose instead a black woolen dress that was tucked at the bodice and hugged her narrow waist, showing off her good figure. She had lost weight and the dress was a bit loose through the shoulders, but it didn’t matter.

  Tilting her head, she studied her face. The loss of weight made her hazel eyes seem larger than ever; and although her complexion was quite pale, when she pinched her cheeks and bit her lips, a faint pink touched her skin.

  Suddenly, she thought of her mother, and she knew her father had been right. With the unusual heart shape of her face and the thick auburn hair, she knew she very much resembled her mother when she was young.

  She opened her small jewelry box and withdrew the cameo that had belonged to her mother. As it lay in the palm of her hand, she thought of how she and her father had both been cheated by the loss of such a lovely woman. Yet, the memories of her parents would always live in her heart.

  Opening the clasp of the cameo, she placed the pin at the neck of her dress. It was the perfect complement to offset the stark black of the dress. Smoothing back the strands of her hair into its thick chignon, she turned from the mirror and began to speculate about her evening with Joe.

  ❧

  The dining room of Mrs. Taylor’s restaurant was a large, square room with six tables, four chairs to a table. The plain wooden tables were overlaid with tan linen cloths, and the bone china and silver cutlery were nice reminders of the homes so many people had left behind.

  Joe pulled back a chair for her and she spread her skirts as she took a seat. He was wearing a fresh white shirt and dark trousers.

  “Everything else that I own has been left at the laundry.” He smiled across at her.

  She nodded. A Tlingit family ran the local laundry, and she was always amazed at the enormous amount of work they managed. “They’re very particular with the clothes,” she said.

  But she was not thinking of the people or the laundry as she looked across the candlelit table to him. His blond hair was slicked back from his bronzed face, and tonight his blue eyes seemed larger than ever and were the nicest shade of blue she had ever seen.

  “Please excuse the length of my hair,” he spoke up, as though her staring might be due to some fault on his part. “I haven’t had time to visit a barber.”

  “There’s only one good one that I know about here,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. She gave the man’s name and the location of his small log cabin. Many of the inhabitants of Dawson operated businesses out of their homes.

  Mrs. Taylor appeared at their table, announcing that tonight’s menu would be baked salmon, rice, dried apricots, canned tomatoes, and tapioca pudding. While she varied her menu each evening, she served family style to everyone.

  “That sounds fine.” Joe looked across at Ruth.

  “Yes, it does,” she agreed.

  After Mrs. Taylor had left the table, the two sat staring for a moment, then Ruth cleared her throat.

  “How are you doing with your claim?” she asked.

  “It’s going well,” he said.

  ❧

  Joe stared at her for a moment, thinking. Should he tell her? He hadn’t been to the assayer yet, but he knew the claim would probably make him rich. Ivan had said that gold salted with black sand was worth eleven dollars an ounce. “We completed our shaft and have been windlassing a ton of mud and gravel.” He paused, glancing around the small dining room. “I brought in a sample,” he said quietly.

  “I hope it proves to be profitable.”

  “Thank you.” As he looked at her, he kept wondering about what she was going to do. “How are you doing? I know I asked you that earlier, but I mean. . .how are you really doing? I’ve been worried about you.”

  She sighed. “Yes, it has been difficult.”

  “You must miss your father very much.”

  “I do.” Then she took a deep breath and looked at him. “How is Kenai?”

  He grinned. “Hungry. Do you have any idea how much malamutes eat?”

  “No,” she laughed.

  “Actually, Kenai has been a great deal of company to me and to Ivan. In fact, Ivan needs him more than I do, I think. Ivan’s a loner who doesn’t trust people very much. Kenai is exactly the kind of companion he prefers.”

  Their food was delivered on pretty plates, served attractively, and Joe cast a longing glance at the
crusty hot bread placed before them.

  “I’m glad you invited me to eat with you,” Ruth said.

  Joe glanced across at her and saw that her hazel eyes held a glow again, and he was glad.

  “I’m glad you could join me,” he answered, picking up his fork. When he looked back at her, he saw that her eyes were closed for a moment before she reached for and unfolded her napkin.

  “I must seem very rude,” he said, “digging into my food without saying grace.”

  “No,” she said with a smile. “You just seem like a hungry man.”

  “I am that,” he answered, and they both laughed.

  They were silent for a few minutes as they both enjoyed the food, then Joe put down his fork and looked at her. “You were right. The food here is very good, but I think you’re the best cook in Dawson.”

  “Thank you,” she answered. “When are you returning to camp?”

  He sighed. “Tomorrow. Wish it were not so soon, but we’re almost out of food, and we needed some mining supplies.”

  “Were you able to get what you needed at the mercantile today?” she asked.

  “Not everything. There will be no more canned fruit until the boat comes in next spring. They’re rationing sugar and coffee, as well. We can do without sugar, but we need the coffee to keep us alert.” A sigh escaped him as he recalled the long, hard hours of work. Kerosene could no longer be obtained in Dawson, and now they would be working by the light of candles.

  “Do you plan to stay in Dawson?” she asked. “I mean, after you strike it rich.”

  “I guess that depends on if I strike it rich,” he said then laughed.

  She tilted her head and looked at him thoughtfully, then she nodded slowly. “I think you will. You have the intelligence and determination.”

  “What about you?” he asked, watching her carefully. “You said you would probably leave, but that you might not return to Seattle.” He was testing her, wondering if she would tell him about Arthur Bradley now. He had an almost overwhelming desire to know her plans, for he could no longer deny his feelings, although he had desperately tried.