“I’d better go,” he said, breaking into her thoughts.
She looked up into his face, half in shadow now with his back to the lantern. She tried to read the expression in his blue eyes for she longed to know how he really felt for her. As she stood looking up into his face, his lips brushed hers in a sweet gentle kiss. And for the first time in her life, she had an inkling of what real romance was. . .a friendship then a kiss, a kiss that brought a feeling of joy and longing to be near that person. Always.
But already he was withdrawing from her, stepping back, looking deep into her eyes. For a moment, neither of them spoke, then he took a deep breath. “I must go,” he said.
“Thank you for a lovely evening,” she said, amazed that her voice was calm despite the rapid beat of her heart. “And I hope you’ll stop in the next time you come to Dawson,” she added.
“Yes, I will.” He headed for the door, and her eyes followed him, watching as he replaced the felt hat on his golden head. “Ruth. . .” He turned slowly and looked at her.
“Yes?” She waited anxiously, desperately wanting him to speak words of reassurance, words that would let her know he felt the same way she did.
“Take care of yourself,” he finally replied.
“Thanks. You, too.” She smiled, following him to the door. Her hopes were already sinking, but she tried to cover her disappointment. During the ten minutes he had been inside the house, he could have been any other well-meaning friend or neighbor. Except for the kiss. Surely, he realized she didn’t allow just anyone to kiss her; it had been a very personal thing for her. How did he feel?
He smiled at her then stepped out, closing the door softly. She turned the key in the latch then leaned against the door, pressing her head against the cold wood.
What if he didn’t feel the way she did? What if his heart wasn’t beating in the same crazy rhythm as hers? She couldn’t bear to think he didn’t share her feelings. She hugged her arms around her, feeling cold and lonely again as she climbed the stairs. Maybe there was no future with Joe Spencer, but she would prefer one sweet memorable evening with him to a lifetime with Arthur Bradley, bless his heart.
❧
As Joe walked back to Miss Mattie’s Roadhouse in the cold darkness, thoughts flew about his brain like pesky mosquitoes in summer. It had taken every ounce of self-discipline not to take her in his arms and kiss her again and again. Still, she was a lady and a very good one at that. A Christian lady, he added, recalling their hour in the prayer service.
Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, trying to absorb some warmth, he tried to sort through his feelings. He cared for her more than any woman he had ever met in his life, and he knew that now. She was a strong woman, yet kind and gentle; she was not a whiner or a complainer, even though she had reason to complain. Life had not been fair to her; that much was obvious to him. She had lost her mother when she was young. Then she had obviously passed up a comfortable life in Seattle and many suitors, no doubt, to come to Dawson with her father. She had said it was his dream. Or maybe he said that. In any case, he knew Ruth Wright had come here for her father’s benefit rather than her own.
He recalled his first conversation with the two of them. “We didn’t come here to get rich,” she had said in a quiet yet firm voice. “We came to help those who would obviously be in need of medical care.”
And they had. It seemed a cruel twist of fate that her father had been taken at a crucial time, leaving her alone to survive the winter. But even at that, she seemed to be attempting to hide her tears, and she was obviously determined to cope.
He had reached the boardinghouse, but he felt inclined to linger outside for a moment and stare up at the stars. The sky was a dark canvas with bright glittering stars and only a half moon. The air was very clear here in the north, and it did him good to look up at the vast sky and study the handiwork of God.
The handiwork of God. That kind of thought had not crossed his mind in a long time.
He sighed and turned for the door. Ruth was good for him in many ways. He longed to stay on for a few days, spend more time with her, follow the strong pull of his heart toward Ruth Wright and see where it led.
A deep sigh wrenched his body as reality pushed through his fogged brain. There was gold waiting to be assayed, and supplies to be bought, and a claim to be worked. He couldn’t get soft now; the timing was all wrong.
With that in mind, he entered the boardinghouse and forced himself to think of tomorrow and what must be done.
eight
Ruth had taken Joe’s concern more seriously than that of Mrs. Greenwood and Arthur Bradley. Before going to sleep, she had prayed for the right person with whom to share her home.
Her answer came the first of the week, when a woman appeared at her front door, with a thin pale face peering from beneath a thick, black hooded cape.
“Good morning,” she said. “My name is Dorie Farmer. Miss Mattie at the boardinghouse said one of her guests suggested you might be interested in taking in a lady boarder.”
The boarder who had suggested this to Miss Mattie, of course, was Joe, and Ruth smiled at that, as she looked at the woman before her. She was a tall woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties. Her face was plain with the exception of keen brown eyes that reflected intelligence and curiosity as she looked at Ruth. Beneath the thick cloak, Ruth could see this woman was dressed in the most liberal fashion of the day—a shorter skirt, ankle length, that revealed thick flannel bloomers above rubber boots, crusted with mud. As Ruth’s eyes swept back up the dark, serviceable cape, she saw the dirt stains on it as well.
“I know I must look a sight,” the woman said, glancing down at her clothing. “But if you understand that I walked over Chilkoot Pass—”
“Chilkoot Pass?” Ruth gasped.
It was one of the worst journeys a man could make to Daw-son; Ruth couldn’t imagine a woman making this tortuous journey, even though some had arrived by that route during milder weather.
Ruth opened the door wider. “Come in. You must be half-frozen.”
“Thank you. First, I’ll remove these filthy boots.” Dorie Farmer stepped out of her boots, and Ruth glimpsed a pair of moccasins underneath as the woman stepped inside and looked around. “I hear you have the nicest home in Dawson, and I can see this is true.”
“Thank you,” Ruth said. “May I take your cloak?”
“Yes, please.” The woman removed her fur gloves and stuffed them in the pockets of the cloak. Then she removed the cloak as her eyes slowly moved over the interior of the house. “I understand this was a clinic,” she said, carelessly patting down her thin brown hair, streaked with gray on the sides and worn in a loose chignon.
“It was,” Ruth nodded, hanging the cloak on the coat tree. “My father and I came to Dawson back in the summer. He passed away recently.”
Dorie Farmer nodded. “I heard that,” she said, speaking gently. “I’m so sorry. Are you still running the clinic?”
The question took Ruth by surprise. Unlike everyone else who expected her to shut down, which indeed she had, this woman seemed to think it was possible for Ruth to run the clinic on her own.
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I’m a nurse, not a doctor. I do assist the other doctor here in his clinic.”
“I see. Well, you’ll find that I am curious by nature. It accompanies my profession.”
“Which is?” Ruth asked with a smile. It was easy to be frank with this woman.
“I’m a correspondent for the San Francisco Examiner,” she answered. “I’ll probably write a few articles for the Klondike Nugget here, as well.”
“How fascinating!” All sorts of questions were rushing into Ruth’s mind, but then she remembered her manners. “Come upstairs and I’ll make tea.”
“Thank you very much. I haven’t had a decent cup of tea since. . .well, I can’t remember when. On the Pass, we were lucky to get enough snow melt for drinking water.”
Ruth glanced b
ack at her, still amazed that this woman had survived such a tortuous journey.
“Oh, this feels like home,” Dorie said upon following Ruth through the living room to the kitchen. “May I wash my hands?”
Ruth pointed her toward the wash basin as she checked the water in the teakettle, relieved to see that there was enough and that it was still hot. She went to the cabinet for tea and cups.
“I’m in desperate need of a wash house. Can you refer me to one?”
Ruth considered offering the use of her tin tub, but remembering hygiene, forced herself to limit her generosity until she got to know Dorie Farmer better.
“There are two bath houses here,” she said. “One offers spruce steam baths, and that is the one I would recommend. It’s run by a Tlingit couple—”
“Oh, yes, the Tlingit,” Dorie nodded. “They are so wise and practical. We had Tlingit guides leading us over the Pass. I’m certain we would never have survived without them.”
Ruth nodded. “They know the area well, since they were the first inhabitants. The people who run the bath house I mentioned learned about the proper bath system from an American living in Skagway. Like the people who run the laundry, they are very clean and take pride in their equipment. I think you’ll be as comfortable as you can be, given the choices.” Then she tilted her head and looked at Dorie with the eye of a nurse. “Are you feeling all right? Malnutrition and scurvy are common maladies of the journey here.”
“I’ve been fortunate, thank you,” Dorie smiled. “I brought my own cache of herbs and dried fruits, which have saved my life more than once since leaving San Francisco a year ago—”
“A year ago?” Ruth asked, surprised by this.
“Yes, I’ve spent the past year interviewing miners, travelers, anyone and everyone who could tell me something about this country—those who had lived here and those who wanted to get rich here. I first disembarked at Juneau and spent some time there. Then I caught a boat to Skagway and got stranded there for the winter. At spring breakup I went the ten miles to Dyea. My ultimate goal was Dawson, and to get here I knew the most entertaining route would be over Chilkoot or White Pass, but I chose Chilkoot, since there seemed to be more stories circulating about that one.”
“So you climbed over that steep pass to get stories for your paper?”
“That’s right. I guess I sound pretty crazy, but then I had to wonder about my sanity when I ended up wintering in Skagway. It’s a disorderly little place but not really as notorious as it’s made out to be. Grant you, there are shootings day and night, but I’m afraid I’ve used that to my advantage. My job is entertaining people back in San Francisco. Shameful, isn’t it?”
Ruth looked at her. In a way, she thought it was; but this woman was so honest about herself and her job that she couldn’t help liking her.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve met lots of interesting people in your travels.”
“I have. And I’ve been greatly inspired by those who left everything behind to follow their dream of striking it rich. So many have died in the process,” she said on a heavy sigh. “But there are many interesting stories. And you’d be amazed at the number of enterprising women who have followed their husbands and ended up getting rich through their own ingenuity in supplying what was needed in camps and tent towns.”
Ruth nodded. “There’s a woman here in Dawson who’s making a nice income simply by selling hot water bottles to miners and silk cloth to the women who were desperately homesick for the nice things they left behind.”
“That’s the kind of ingenuity I mean. This woman was smart enough to think of that, you see. Maybe I’ll interview her for a story!” Dorie’s brown eyes brightened as she shook the dripping water from her hands into the basin.
Ruth handed her a cup towel. “I can see that you’re going to liven up my lonely house,” Ruth said. “I can’t wait to talk with you. You must have lots of stories to tell.”
Dorie dried her hands and studied Ruth with an amused grin. “You’ve decided to take me on as a boarder, then?”
“Of course,” Ruth smiled, motioning her to a chair. On an impulse, she went to the cabinet and got down a tin of tea cakes that she reserved for special occasions, now that she was having to ration herself on everything she ate.
“Tea cakes!” Dorie clasped her hands together before her gallused shirt, looking as delighted as a child on Christmas morning. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I had anything resembling a delicacy? Beans and hardtack, and the occasional smoked fish. I may never eat those three items again,” she said, taking a seat.
Ruth laughed, delighted by her new boarder. She knew that Dorie was an answer to her prayers. Suddenly the long winter stretching before her didn’t seem so bad. Then she had another thought. “How long did you want to stay?”
Dorie shrugged, lifting her teacup. “Hard to say. Everyone’s telling me we’re frozen in here for the winter, but I don’t know if I can stay in one place that long.”
“I’m afraid your destinations are limited, unless you want to go out to the mining camps to interview the miners.”
“Oh, I already spent some time at one camp, and I plan to go to others,” Dorie said after a generous sip of tea.
Ruth’s eyebrows rose. She had merely been teasing, but she saw that Dorie was perfectly serious.
“Makes for the kind of reading folks back in San Francisco want,” she explained, reaching for a tea cake.
Ruth sipped her tea, recalling the mood of her hometown before she left. “Yes, I remember that everyone in Seattle was wild to hear news of the Klondike.”
“So you and your father just arrived this summer?”
“In the height of mosquito season,” Ruth said, shaking her head. “I will be forever grateful to an article in our newspaper about the importance of taking mosquito netting for hats and gloves to protect the hands.”
“I wrote a similar article for my newspaper, only I’m afraid I did more complaining than warning. I’ve had some unpleasant run-ins with those varmints,” Dorie said, then looked at Ruth with a blissful smile.“This tea cake is manna from heaven. But speaking of mosquitoes, I don’t remember them being as much a challenge as trying to survive the Chilkoot.”
Ruth leaned forward. “How on earth did you survive that awful journey at this time of year? In fact, I thought the Pass was already closed down.”
“We were the last people over it.” She sighed. “I hope I can blot from my memory some of the terrible things that happened along the way. Dogs and horses dropping dead from exhaustion, people lying down in the snow, begging God to let them go on and freeze. It was awful,” she said, looking seriously at Ruth.
Ruth’s mouth fell open, and for a moment she couldn’t even visualize such horror. “I’ve been spared those atrocities,” she said. “We’ve had lots of patients as a result of climbing one of the passes. They’ve come in with pneumonia, rheumatism, or scurvy, and in one case all three. However, most of those people were so sick and weary that they wanted to forget their experiences rather than discuss them.”
“Which is what I should do,” Dorie said, staring at Ruth’s tablecloth.
Then with a chapped hand, she touched the tablecloth, trailing the balls of her fingers over the smooth linen. “You have no idea what a pleasure it is just to touch a nice tablecloth or press a cloth napkin to my mouth.” Her brown eyes roamed over the kitchen. “Or to sit in the warmth and comfort of your kitchen. It seems as grand as a ballroom compared to the frozen campfire suppers or windblown tent kitchens.”
Ruth smiled sadly. “I don’t see how you did it. I imagine a soft bed will feel even better to you.”
Dorie groaned. “There’s nothing I can think of that appeals to me more. The softest thing I’ve put to my back is a board covered with clothing for a mattress.”
“Is all that really worth the story?” Ruth asked, amazed that this woman had endured so much, having come from a nice city like San Francisco.
Dorie laughed. “I’m afraid being a correspondent is my obsession in life. Actually, it is my life. I’ve never been married, never even wanted to be. My work has meant everything to me.”
“I’ve never been that enamored with nursing,” Ruth sighed. “I enjoy helping sick people, and the satisfaction of seeing them restored to good health is a reward, but. . .” her voice trailed. What she really wanted was to have a family, to be a wife and mother.
“Now tell me,” Dorie said matter-of-factly, “will I be putting you out here? I’ll be delighted to sleep on that sofa I saw in there.” She indicated the living room with a wag of her head.
“I can put you up in my father’s room, although I’ll have to do some straightening up.”
“Please don’t trouble yourself,” Dorie said. “If this is a painful task for you—after so recently losing your father, I mean—I will be more than happy to take care of that myself, if you instruct me how you want things done.”
Ruth shook her head. “No, I can manage. In fact, I’ll probably thank you later for giving me the incentive I needed to assemble those piles of books into some kind of order.”
Dorie nodded then pressed her hands against the table and stood up slowly.
“Are you aching in your muscles or joints?” Ruth asked, suddenly feeling like a nurse again.
“Just a bit stiff. I’ll get over it. May I call you Ruth? And of course I’m Dorie.”
“Of course,” Ruth smiled.
“Now, Ruth, I want to make it clear that I’ll pull my share of the load. I’m accustomed to doing things that way. We can take turns washing dishes and cooking, if you like.”
Ruth considered her suggestion. “For now, why don’t you just take care of any business you have in town and let me handle the house?”
Dorie gave her a grateful smile. “I’m so appreciative of your kindness. I think God sent me directly to your door.”
“Oh, I’m sure He did,” Ruth answered quickly. “And I must remember to thank Joe for passing the word on.”
Silent Stranger Page 10
