A Pioneer Christmas Collection

by Kathleen Fuller

  “Where would he obtain the money?” Mrs. Parker clutched her throat.

  Reverend Parker examined the letter. “He borrowed funds from a friend. Miles purchased his provisions in Seattle and mailed this letter from the docks before he sailed.”

  “Sailed?” his mother cried. “Who would have loaned him so much money?”

  Samantha squelched the urge to strike Peter. “You didn’t!”

  Samantha watched two men lift her mother’s prized pump organ onto the cart. She gulped a sob as she recalled Mama singing and playing hymns, particularly on nights when they missed Pa.

  Peter cleared his throat. “That’s done. Let’s say good-bye to Mother.” They walked up the dirt road to the cemetery.

  “What were you thinking inviting Miles?”

  “How could we go on an adventure and not take our third musketeer? We need him.”

  Samantha sighed. “You know what he’s been like the last couple years. He’ll propose again.”

  Peter snorted. “He loves you. You just don’t appreciate him.”

  Samantha swatted at Queen Anne’s lace. “His head is so full of God—not that there’s anything wrong with loving the Lord—he misses obvious things. Alaska could kill him.” When they were growing up, pudgy, bespectacled Miles was always falling out of trees, getting stung by bees, or tripping over his own feet.

  Peter stopped. “He’s shorter than you. That’s the real reason you turned him down.”

  She stomped her foot. “That’s not true.”

  “You’re six feet tall, Sam. Your chances of finding a guy tall enough to suit you are slim.”

  “I’m five-eleven and a half.”

  He laughed. “You’re still taller than most men. But maybe giants like us live in Alaska.”

  Samantha shut her eyes and counted to ten, like Mama always advised. She lowered her voice to soften her anger. “You told me we sold our household goods to pay our way on the steamship and for our supplies. I signed over my bank account to cover unexpected travel incidentals. Are my savings funding Miles’s trip?”

  Her high-spirited brother turned his blue eyes away. The cheekbones above his beard turned pink.

  She smelled the damp Washington soil and the decaying rot of soggy plants as the summer day dwindled to dusk. “Please tell me the truth.”

  “I promised to find Pa,” Peter said. “Once we find him, you can stay with him through the winter and Miles and I will go to the Klondike. I’ll reimburse you. You’ll only lose one year. I’ve waited my whole life for an adventure beyond this little town. If I had to sit at that desk in the lumber mill one more day I’d go crazy.”

  “We couldn’t have survived without your hard work.” She patted his arm. “But why does Miles have to come?”

  Peter unlatched the squeaky cemetery gate. “I can’t prospect alone, and I trust him. Besides, the Klondikers will hear the Gospel if he’s with me. I’ll work and he’ll preach. Pa will like that. Don’t worry. We’ve always saved Miles before. We’ll do it again. We need him. I promise he’ll be safe with me.”

  They pushed past the overgrown phlox to their mother’s fresh grave. Thin grass blades poked through the ruddy earth around the beloved azalea Samantha had transplanted from their garden.

  Could so much have changed in only a month?

  Peter’s shoulders shook. “She’d be proud of us—you’ll see. Mother wanted us to spend more time with Pa. It’s our job to tell him about her passing. We’ll find him.”

  Samantha let the tears flow. How often had Mama warned Samantha to use her head and curb Peter’s fancies? How many times had Mama told her to watch out for bookish Miles?

  “I’ll do my best to trust you, Peter,” she sniffed. “I’ll try to be thankful Miles is with us, because it means the Parkers will be on their knees. We’ll need their prayers.”

  Peter brushed leaves off the grave. “Mother would like that.”

  Samantha pressed her lips together and stared at the headstone. She wasn’t so sure.

  Would Mama have approved of anything about this scheme?

  Chapter 2

  Seattle docks

  Miles Parker shoved the bowler hat down over his forehead, only to have it pop up again. He should cut off the fair curls his mother liked so much. They got unruly and made him look like a tall child instead of the man he wanted to be.

  Miles corrected his thinking. He was a twenty-one-year-old man voyaging to uncharted lands. Alaska’s adventures would prove he was a man that women, particularly Samantha, could admire.

  Miles was counting on it.

  He peered over the hordes swarming Seattle’s docks, searching for the towering Harris twins. When Peter sent the money and the packing list last week, he’d ordered Miles to supervise the purchase and loading of their provisions onto the steamship Alki.

  Miles spent the first dime at the Seattle Hardware Company on Facts for Klondikers. He knew the booklet would more than repay them with gained insight. In addition, the outfitters Coopers and Levy had suggested several items. Figuring it better to be safe than sorry, Miles added snow glasses and cozy knitted hats.

  Miles checked his coat pockets. His extra pair of spectacles remained secure. His small New Testament rode, as always, in his breast pocket close to his heart.

  “Excuse me, sirs.” Miles lifted his hat to the scowling faces of gold-fevered men.

  When they didn’t budge, Miles gently pushed through the crowd with his broad shoulders. Two men resisted, so he put on his charming smile.

  “What’s your rush?” one growled.

  “I have a ticket.” He’d learned that speaking slowly in a cordial tone worked better for him than belligerence.

  The crowd parted.

  Miles watched stevedores hauling cargo onto the Alki. The ship creaked against the quay as travelers crossed the gangplank to board. He could hear the frantic barking dogs, bleating sheep, and neighing horses that would spend the six-day journey in the ship’s hold.

  A whiff of coal-fired smoke mixed with the tangy sea air and press of humanity. He straightened and his heart skipped a beat when he saw Samantha.

  Miles waved his bowler and whistled their childhood signal. Samantha turned in his direction. Peter grasped her elbow and pulled a cart behind them loaded with baggage. Samantha didn’t need help, but it always pleased Miles when Peter recognized his sister was a young woman and not merely a shorter version of himself.

  “Everything on board?” Peter demanded.

  Miles ignored him. “Hello, Samantha. I bet you’re surprised to see me.”

  “That doesn’t half express my thoughts,” Samantha murmured. “Peter said you purchased our equipment?”

  “Yes. I bought everything on Peter’s list. My research suggested beefing up on antiscurvy items, so I purchased four bottles of lime juice. They loaded our provisions on the ship this morning.”

  “What research?” Peter stepped closer.

  Miles held up Facts for Klondikers.

  “I figured I’d ask men who’ve been to Alaska before,” Peter said.

  “Sourdoughs? An excellent idea. I suspect, however, most of the voyagers on the Alki will be Argonauts; that’s another name for folks headed to the goldfields.”

  “I’ve heard that.” Samantha elbowed the man behind her. “This crowd is rough.”

  Miles tapped his chin, the old sign for the musketeers to bow close. “I haven’t seen many gentlewomen boarding. I’m concerned about the people Samantha will encounter.”

  “What do you mean?” Peter asked.

  Samantha frowned. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Certainly.” Her lilac scent reminded him of home. “You’re strong and resourceful, but desperate times may require desperate measures.”

  Samantha’s sigh dismissed him, but Miles continued. “Where’s Samantha supposed to sleep? I’ve seen few women except”—he leaned toward Peter—“the wrong type.”

  Peter had always been the most cunning o
f the three. Miles watched him consider his sister, taller than most of the other passengers, and the surly men around them. He met Miles’s eyes. “Should we disguise her?”

  “You can’t be serious.” Samantha stepped back. “We’re adults, not kids playing Twelfth Night. You want me to masquerade as a man?”

  Peter nodded. “We need to decide now, before we embark.”

  “It’s for your own good,” Miles explained. “You can sleep between us on deck if they think you’re a boy. We can protect you.”

  Samantha looked down her nose at him, but Miles didn’t flinch. He was used to it.

  “We need to cut her hair, and she can wear my clothes. I’ve got a change in my carpetbag.” Peter ignored her protests. “It’s only until we get to Alaska. Then you can put your corset on again.”

  Samantha reached for her blond knot. “Pa called my hair a crown of golden glory. How can I cut it off ?”

  Miles winced at the threat to Samantha’s splendid hair, but he steeled himself. “There’s not much time.”

  “Let’s go. I’ll use my knife. Watch our luggage.” Peter seized his sister’s arm and dragged her toward a nearby building.

  Smoke belched from the forward smokestack, and the throng grew more restless. The twins returned with Peter’s expression stiff and Samantha’s eyes red. Her hair stuck out in pitiful tufts, and Peter’s clothes hung on her.

  Loss pricked Miles. When he had suggested Peter leave Samantha behind, his oldest friend refused. “We’ve always said all for one—we can’t leave her behind. Sam’s yearned for Pa since the day he left. Besides, the trip will keep her mind off losing Mother.”

  What did Miles know about missing a parent? His parents had fussed over him his entire life. He’d agreed to go with Peter just to keep an eye on Samantha.

  Miles removed his bowler. “Wear this, Samantha.”

  “It’s Sam,” Peter said.

  In Peter’s tightly belted pants with the hems rolled up four inches, her angular frame resembled that of an adolescent boy. Sam grabbed the hat. If no one looked too closely, she would pass.

  “Give me your necklace,” Peter commanded.

  Sam clutched the carved cross around her neck. “Pa made this. I never take it off.”

  “Do you see any other men wearing necklaces?”

  Sam turned away to remove the chain. Miles patted her arm. “Time to board.”

  Peter led the way, hauling their personal baggage. Miles slung his blanket roll across his shoulders and toted a rust-colored carpetbag crammed with saltine crackers, ginger root, and other soothing food in case seasickness struck. Growing up, the trio had sailed a small boat in Sinclair Inlet with Mr. Harris. Miles never had a problem, but Samantha’s stomach was another story.

  The Alki had large open deck areas front and back with passenger cabins two stories high in the center. Travelers bustled about arranging their gear into a space to call home for the voyage. The Port Orchard trio found a spot on top behind the smokestack near the lifeboats. Peter pointed at Miles. “Pray for clear weather or we’ll get wet.”

  “We grew up in the Pacific Northwest. I think we can handle rain.” He put cheer in his voice to encourage them.

  Sam stared west toward home and the summer snow-topped Olympic Mountains. She fidgeted with something in her pocket. Miles tapped the bowler. “What’re you thinking, Sam?”

  She pulled out the bulky golden braid Peter loved to tug but Miles feared to touch. She smoothed it between her hands. “I just want to find my father.”

  Chapter 3

  Inland Passage

  Miles fussed about arranging things and defending their spot against interloping Argonauts. When Peter invited her to watch the ship cast off, Samantha shook her head. She felt hollow and assaulted, too drained by recent events to budge.

  A horn blasted for departure. Hoarse voices shouted, “Alaska, Alaska!” but Samantha covered her ears and face to forget the milling crowds, rumbling engines, and squalling sea birds. Her grieving heart longed for a home now lost and a cherished mother whose voice she’d never hear again.

  Mama would be horrified at their recent actions. They’d sold their possessions, abandoned Port Orchard, bought steamship tickets, chopped off Samantha’s hair, and now she wore Peter’s clothes. But what choices did she have? Mama was dead. Pa was missing. Peter had spent her savings. Until he earned more money, she had neither home nor future.

  All Samantha had was hope she’d see her father again. Two years was a long time not to hear Pa’s warm voice reading the Bible. She yearned for his calm reminders that Jesus loved her and God had a good plan for her life.

  But where was Pa? He’d sent the last letter in June from somewhere near Skagway, explaining he missed them but had important work to finish by Christmas. He’d come home then. Mama had read the letter aloud. “Remember how God sent Nehemiah to help his people? Pa is doing the same thing.”

  Mama had folded the pages carefully, coughed into her handkerchief, and found solace in her Bible, as always. Peter had paced and run his hands through his hair, his frustration barely contained.

  Samantha craved Pa’s strong arms. With her mother dead, she needed his comfort. Surely he would understand the trip, her shorn hair, and Peter’s ambitious plans.

  She took a deep breath and told herself to appreciate the freedom of not wearing a pinching corset. Her disguise depended on her ability to behave like her brother. She willed herself to act manlike. Perhaps she should spit or scratch.

  Or order someone to do something he didn’t want to do.

  Peter returned. “You shouldn’t be mooning up here. This is a turning point in your life. Everything will be different from now on.”

  “What if I didn’t want my life to change?”

  “You don’t have a choice, Sam. The past is gone. This is your new life. Are you going to embrace it or sulk?”

  Peter’s eyes danced with excitement, and he brimmed with confidence.

  Miles tripped up, his hair curling above his ears like a toddler. His round cheeks already looked sunburned above his scraggly beard. “Just like when we were kids, Sam, and played three musketeers. One for all, all for one.”

  She really looked at him for the first time. “When did you start growing whiskers?”

  “As soon as I heard about the trip.” He hooked his scholar’s tweed jacket over his shoulder and played his jovial role. “We should eat in shifts, one of us guarding our spot. You two go first.”

  Samantha wasn’t hungry, but she stepped over the neighbor sprawling beside their gear and followed Peter down the steep stairway. They skirted the outside cabins to a line at the dining hall on the back end of the ship. “Best get the eats while they’re hot,” mumbled the Sourdough in front of them.

  They waited an hour before space opened at a long table. Distracted whitecoated stewards passed metal plates and flung cutlery before sliding large bowls of grub—the obvious description of the food—before them.

  Her nose prickled at the sour smell of boiled cabbage and a slab of unrecognizable meat, but she ate it. Peter handed her a chunk of bread, she drank a mug of water, and then the stewards evicted them to make room for other diners.

  “I’ll relieve Miles. Do you want to explore?” Peter asked.

  “Yes.” Samantha squeezed past Klondikers clogging the interior hallway between the staterooms. Belongings spilled out narrow doorways.

  “I paid for a double berth,” a dandy bristled. “Who are all these other people?”

  The harried steward consulted a paper. “We’ve got too many people on board. Two hundred travelers need beds.”

  “Six men are in here. I want my money back.”

  The steward eyed him. “We could sell your berthing space ten times over. Are you sure?”

  The man swore and shoved in.

  Three doors down a woman in a low-cut emerald dress leaned against the wall. “Hiya, honey, are you going to Alaska?”

  Sam jumped. “Me?”<
br />
  “Sure thing.” The woman drew a scarlet fingernail along Sam’s cheek. “You’re kind of young to be traveling alone. You looking for a place to stay?”

  “No. I want the toilet.”

  The woman shook her silky black hair. “They call it the ‘head’ on a ship, honey. Though why a boy would need our head I don’t know.” She peered closer. “Or do I? It’s the last door on the left. If you need privacy to change, come here. There’s no room for modesty on a ship like this.”

  After using the cramped and nose-wrinkling head, Sam returned to the top deck. Miles, full of details and holding a booklet, was lecturing to the men camped around them.

  “The Alki is 215 feet long and can make up to ten knots an hour. She’s a powerful beauty.” Miles patted the white lifeboat beside him. No one asked any questions.

  Sam pushed a carpetbag out of the way when Miles joined her beside their luggage. “The food’s awful, but you should eat.”

  “Soon enough. I haven’t had a chance to tell you how sorry I am about your mother.”

  Miles had missed the funeral. He’d been so busy at seminary, she hadn’t seen him since Christmas. “Thanks.”

  He ducked his head. “Mrs. Harris was always kind. She wrote every week like clockwork.”

  “Really?”

  “She sent encouraging notes, telling me to stay true to the calling God had placed on my heart and assuring me of her prayers.”

  Sam rocked back. “I had no idea.”

  “Your pa left her behind because she was too delicate and refined for the frontier, but she had a missionary spirit.” Miles raised his chin. “I hope to have a wife like her someday, a woman who will support me no matter how hard a life God sends.”

  Sam shuddered and put up her hands. “Don’t ask.”

  “This is not a proposal, Sam.” He emphasized her nickname. “I’m just saying your mother understood personal sacrifice for the spread of the Gospel. I admired her.”

  “Thank you. How do you know so much about the ship?”

  He jabbed her forearm like she was a boy. “I always do my research.”