Silent Stranger

by Darty, Peggy;

  If he was innocent of the crime, why had he escaped Skagway, as the article went on to detail? And if there was some mistake, why had he not confided the story to her? Apparently Hankins had been a “colorful” local with dubious connections, but still. . .

  Another thought had taken root sometime during her sleepless night. She had given him the mining claim in good faith, and she couldn’t push aside the memory of Arthur’s report: that Joe had been into town with some promising nuggets from one of his claims. Plural. What if that rich nugget was from her claim? If so, it would explain why he had not come to see her while he was in town. If he was a thief and a murderer, he would not hesitate to take advantage of her. This brought on more bitter tears.

  Dorie had come home to see about her at noon. Ruth sat on the sofa in the living room, staring into space, trying to put herself back together. The sight of Dorie’s face, however, did nothing to cheer her. She looked even more downhearted than when she left this morning, offering a few cheerful words for Ruth in parting.

  “Oh, Ruth,” Dorie sighed as she entered the living room and took a seat opposite her. “I’m afraid I have more bad news.”

  “More?” Ruth echoed, wondering what could possibly be worse than what she had already heard. Her heart had been broken in half. Could she even feel anything now? Then she looked at her friend and her eyes widened as another fear took root. “Is something wrong with you, Dorie?” she asked suddenly.

  “No, it isn’t me,” Dorie answered quickly. “Other than feeling a deep sadness for you, I am okay. It’s just that. . .well, Jack London came into the newspaper office to pick up the payment for his article, and I asked him about Joe Spencer or Whitworth. . .or whoever he is. I remembered you mentioned he had a cabin nearby.”

  Ruth was torn with conflict. She wanted to hear about him and yet she could tell from Dorie’s face that whatever she was about to tell her would only make matters worse.

  “Go on,” she said dully.

  “Mr. London said Joe and his partner packed up and moved on. He didn’t seem to know where or why.”

  “Where would they go?” Ruth asked incredulously. “I thought we were locked into the territory. No one can travel over the Pass now; there are no boats coming or going. . . .” Ruth’s logic bogged down in the face of this latest news.

  “Well,” Dorie sighed, “it seems that a few miners—idiots it would appear—have taken another route out. Mr. London didn’t seem to know much about it. All he knew was that the men were gone.”

  Ruth studied her hands, folded tightly in her lap. “I guess maybe he had reason to go,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Dorie, there’s no point in trying to pretend it doesn’t hurt, but I can see that I was completely taken in by this man. I always prided myself in being a good judge of character, but what is the saying? Pride goes before a fall.”

  Dorie reached out, gently touching Ruth’s shoulder. “He was a charming man. I, too, was fooled by him. I wish there was something I could say or do to make matters better.”

  Ruth shook her head. “I’ll get over it. But thanks for caring,” she said, lifting her eyes to Dorie and hating the fact that she could no longer restrain the tears.

  “There now,” Dorie said comfortingly. “You’ll get over it. I did,” she said miserably as her eyes drifted thoughtfully. “I got my heart broken once, but in time one heals.”

  As tears poured down Ruth’s cheeks, she looked at her friend and felt a fresh stab of pain. She hadn’t known it was possible to feel this way about a man; now, she was learning what it was like to be hurt by that man. She swallowed hard, reaching into her pocket for a handkerchief. “You’re right about one thing, Dorie. I will get over this.”

  But as the days dragged into weeks, Ruth began to wonder. It no longer mattered to her that there was little food in their pantry, for her appetite had vanished. She found that she was forcing herself to read the Bible, and she realized late one evening that she was mad at God, as well.

  How could You let me hurt this way? her heart cried out.

  And strangely, an answer whispered through her thoughts. My child, I love you. I will never leave you nor forsake you.

  Huddled into her blankets to offset the cold of the house, for even the wood supply was getting low, Ruth took comfort from those words. She began to feel better because in her heart she felt the deep assurance that she was not alone. God had promised never to leave her alone or put on her heart more than she could bear.

  ❧

  The snow fell in large flakes around him, quickly covering him. He had picked the warmest day of the month to ride into Dawson, and yet that day was brutal. By the time he reached the outskirts of town, he was frozen to the bone. Though he had been careful to keep himself well insulated with clothing, he knew it would take hours to feel warm again. That didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was that he was on his way to see Ruth. And he had something very important to tell her.

  He rode straight to her house, his heart hammering in his chest. It had been almost three months since he had seen her. During that time, life had been difficult. He and Ivan had worked in the brutal cold, enduring illness, suffering numbness in every joint, and once he had almost frozen to death by staying too long in the cold. Ivan had found him, dozing off against a tree, seeking the warmth that had begun to steal over him. Ivan had saved his life that night, and it had taken two weeks to recover, suffering a bout of influenza that had almost cost him his life a second time. Now he had recovered, and ever since moving up the creek to an abandoned shack near Ruth’s claim, his heart had been filled to the bursting point. The claim was rich; he had been certain of it when Ivan brought in some nuggets for assaying while Joe lay sick on his cot. The news had helped to heal him, and now that he was stronger, he couldn’t wait to share this good news with Ruth.

  The sight of her log home brought a surge of joy as he turned his horse in at the hitching rail. Slowly, he climbed down, feeling as though his body was made of wood. Looping the leather reins over the post, he walked stiffly up the steps, eager to see the woman he loved. He had knocked several times before the door opened. Instead of facing Ruth, however, he was looking into Dorie Farmer’s shocked face.

  “Hello,” he began, trying to force a stiff smile onto his frozen lips. “Is Ruth home?”

  Dorie stared at him for a moment, saying nothing, and he wondered if she had forgotten who he was. “I’m Joe Spencer and we met—”

  “I remember our meeting,” she answered coldly, “and I don’t think Ruth will want to see you, but I will ask.”

  Her words stunned him, and he leaned against the door jamb when the door was suddenly closed in his face. What was wrong with this woman? Had she taken leave of her senses? Did she have him confused with someone else?

  If he hadn’t heard the key turn in the lock, he would have rudely thrust the door open and walked inside, calling out for Ruth. His mind was a fog of confusion as he waited anxiously for Ruth to come to the door. Surely there must be some mistake. Surely—

  He heard the key turn in the lock and he straightened, eager to face the woman he loved. Again, it was Dorie Farmer who glared at him, and this time she shoved a newspaper clipping in his face. A quick glance told him more than he wanted to know. His heart sank. Slowly, his eyes moved back to Dorie’s face, now contorted with anger.

  “How dare you take advantage of a sweet, wonderful woman like Ruth. You’ve hurt her terribly. Don’t ever come back to this house!” She slammed the door in his face, and this time he did not linger as the key turned in the lock.

  There was nothing he could say or do, or if there was, he was too stunned to react. The moment he had feared and dreaded had finally come. The truth was out. And if Ruth and Dorie knew, it was only a matter of time until everyone in Dawson knew.

  He felt as though he had aged ten years in a matter of minutes as he pulled himself wearily into the saddle and turned his horse toward the tiny log hut that served as the Dawson jail. H
e was tired of running, tired of hiding and pretending, tired of living. He had lost Ruth, and now nothing else mattered to him.

  ❧

  Within the hour, Dawson was buzzing with the news: A notorious criminal had turned himself in; he would be returned to the authorities in Skagway as soon as weather permitted travel. The news was met with a mixture of feelings. The Greenwoods were smug with their conviction that the stranger had always acted a bit suspicious. Arthur Bradley was sorry for Ruth but dared hope she would take him seriously now. Miss Mattie and some of the men at the boardinghouse were shocked and saddened by the news, for those who had come to know him liked him.

  It was Ruth who was troubled most by his surrender. She wondered why he had not kept on running, why he had bothered to surrender at this time. He had money, freedom, a chance at a new life. What had made him turn and do the right thing? Did she have anything to do with it? Did God? At one point, she would have swallowed her pride and gone to the jail to see him, if not for Dorie. Dorie was on a self-appointed mission to take care of Ruth until the boat pulled in, at which time Ruth was leaving Dawson. She had guarded the door, admitting only those Ruth wanted to see; she had even taken over some of the cooking, since Ruth had no interest in food. Most of all, she had warned Ruth that she would only make matters worse by showing up at the jail. There was nothing she could do for Joe Whitworth; and speaking from personal experience, she promised Ruth that the quicker she got over him, the better she would feel. Seeing him again would only open up the wound in her heart.

  Listlessly, she packed up her possessions, eager to be ready when the Yukon thawed and the first boat came to Dawson. Arthur Bradley frequently came to call, and she was glad to see him. If only she had not met Joe, she might have taken Arthur more seriously, she told herself. Perhaps she would have even fallen in love with him; then she would be accompanying him to lovely Victoria rather than going back to Seattle alone. Arthur had even broached the subject, but she had told him again, as gently as possible, that she felt only friendship. She knew this was true and that she could not have loved him, even if she had never met Joe.

  ❧

  As Joe sat in the jail cell day after day, feeling only misery and torment, he dared hope that Ruth would visit him. His only wish now was to tell her the truth, to try and explain things to her. He would take what was coming to him; he was willing to do that. He just couldn’t bear for Ruth not to know his side of the story. In the long, dark hours of night, as he lay on the hard cot with the cold seeping through cracks in the walls, his soul ached even more than his body. He had gone to church with Ruth and felt again the stirring of God’s love and the need to renew his spiritual life. He had even fought tears during the invitational hymn, but he had hardened his heart and ridden out of town. Now there was no place left to ride, no way out.

  God, if You’ll have me, I want to come back to You, he silently prayed. Please forgive me for what I’ve done, and please help me to make amends to everyone I’ve hurt.

  Tears slipped down his thin, bearded cheeks, and soon his body shook with restrained sobs. The years of hurt that had built in his heart seemed to wash away with his tears, with the gentle cleansing power of God’s healing love. The jail cell no longer seemed so lonely or so cold, and for the first time since his mother died, he felt a sense of peace take root in his heart.

  ❧

  Ruth stood at the wharf, waiting to board the Bella as it slowly nudged its way into the dock. Shouts erupted throughout the crowd around her as the gangplank was lowered. At long last, the famine was over. Food, supplies, mail from home, and dozens of other delights awaited those in Dawson. For at least forty other people, eagerly gripping their tickets, the boat represented an escape out of the territory that had imprisoned them for the winter.

  “Looks as though we’ll have a bit of a wait,” Arthur said, standing close beside Ruth. They were traveling together as far as Skagway, where they would each change boats again and head in opposite directions.

  “Yes,” Ruth agreed, recalling how Arthur had told her she had until Skagway to change her mind and go to Victoria to marry him. Feeling a sense of loneliness overtake her, she was tempted to accept his proposal. With mixed emotions, she turned and cast one last glance over the town where hammers pounded lumber once again, as tents were replaced by more log cabins. Briefly her eyes lingered on the tiny hut that served as the jail, and she thought of Joe.

  A lump filled her throat. She still couldn’t understand the pull she felt toward him, knowing what he had done. Dorie was right; it would take time to heal. She and Dorie had said tearful good-byes, for Dorie was remaining another week to complete a story on the reopening of Dawson. She would live in Ruth’s house until then, at which time the missionaries coming to open the hospital would stay there. She had decided to donate the house to them for as long as they could use it. God had led her in this direction, and she had felt a sense of peace as soon as she made the decision.

  Her eyes moved on to the cemetery on the hill, and the lump in her throat grew. She hated leaving her father here, but of course his soul had gone on to heaven, so she wasn’t leaving him. She would join him some day.

  Drawing a deep shaky breath, she turned her attention toward the arriving passengers, and suddenly one in particular caught her attention as he moved through the crowd. Directly in her line of vision, she studied him intently and then her breath caught. It was him!

  She began to move toward him, scarcely aware of what she was doing, gawking at him like one who has never seen another human being. She was only vaguely aware of Arthur calling to her as she approached the thin, ugly man with long hair and beard, sharp hook nose, and narrow-set eyes.

  “Excuse me,” she said, stepping directly into his path to stop him. “Aren’t you Austin Hankins?”

  The narrow-set eyes widened momentarily as he looked her over. Then slowly he nodded. “Am I supposed to know you?” he asked.

  “You aren’t dead!” she exclaimed.

  He stared at her as though she had lost her senses, and now Arthur stood beside her, staring at the man. “Ruth, what is it?”

  “This man,” she glanced at Arthur, “was not killed in Skagway. Joe didn’t kill him, but he’s being held for murder.”

  “He’s here?” Hankins took a step back from her.

  “In jail,” Arthur was proud to volunteer.

  “For your murder,” Ruth repeated. “For some reason, you were assumed dead.”

  Hankins nodded. “I had my reasons for disappearing.”

  “But Spencer. . .or Whitworth. . .whoever he is. . . ran out,” Arthur said, explaining this to Ruth rather than to the man.

  “Never had to pay for what he did to me. And he should of paid!”

  “He is paying now,” Ruth said. “He has surrendered.”

  Hankins was the one to gawk now. “Why’d he do that? Surrender, I mean.”

  “Maybe he wanted to do the right thing. Don’t you think it’s time you did?”

  Hankins snorted. “I ain’t gettin’ involved.”

  “You’re already involved,” she said, glaring at him.

  He glanced toward the boat, as though considering heading back up the gangplank.

  She spotted Lucky and a friend milling through the crowd, studying the boat and its passengers. He had turned in her direction and she waved to him.

  “What is it, Miss Wright?” he asked, quickly approaching.

  “This man,” she indicated Hankins. “He’s the one Joe is supposed to have killed. But as you can see, he’s very much alive.”

  Hankins shifted from one foot to the other, his discomfort apparent as Lucky and his burly friend closed in on either side of him.

  “Reckon we better mosey on down to the jail,” Lucky said, taking his arm.

  “Whitworth owes me for medical bills,” he complained.

  “Ruth, that is a matter between this man and the authorities.” Arthur was tugging at her sleeve. “Come on, we can board the s
hip now.”

  Ruth yanked her arm free. “You go right ahead, Arthur. I’m going with these men to the jail. I think Mr. Hankins will want to give Joe Whitworth an opportunity to take care of his. . . medical bills.”

  “Ruth—”

  “Arthur, please mind your own business,” Ruth snapped, glaring at him.

  This time he backed away from her, drew himself into a rigid stance, and looked at her with contempt. “I am through trying to reason with you. Good-bye, Ruth.” He turned and stomped off, but Ruth didn’t care. She was oblivious to everything except the man beside her. He was the type of man she would have avoided under other circumstances, but today he was the most special person in Dawson.

  “Let’s go.” Lucky tugged the man’s arm.

  Sergeant Underwood bolted from his desk when they entered with Hankins in tow. His eyes widened as he looked at Hankins, as recognition flashed in his eyes.

  Ruth was about to make the explanation when Hankins suddenly found his courage, which had been prompted, no doubt, by the fact that he wanted to exonerate himself of any charges.

  “I hear you got a prisoner here, sir. There was a, er. . .a little misunderstanding in Skagway. I’m willing to drop charges against him under certain conditions.”

  The door was ajar that led to the cells, and Ruth’s eyes locked on Joe’s haggard face. He looked stunned for a moment, unable to believe what was happening. To her surprise, the anger she had felt for him began to fade. She was not ready to dismiss what he had done, but she felt a sense of relief in bringing the two men together.

  The sound of the boat whistle jolted her back to her senses, and she turned to go.