A Pioneer Christmas Collection

by Kathleen Fuller

  “Did you notice the goons behind him?”

  Miles spun around. The “preacher” stalked the waterfront greeting Argonauts, shadowed by ruffians wearing heavy revolvers. Sam scowled and paced around their boxes, arms folded tight across her chest. Faye, he noticed, had found men to carry her luggage as she sashayed toward the business district.

  “We can’t leave her alone. I’ll wait with Samantha and not speak to a soul.”

  “Fine. I’ll mark a spot at the end of this street.” Peter indicated an area near the forest. “We’ll haul everything ourselves.”

  “Deal.” Miles spied a wooden shack beyond the tents. “Hey, we can send a telegram home to let them know we arrived.” He gulped. “Five dollars is a lot of money, but it will ease my mother’s worry.”

  “Telegraph? Here?” Peter peered at the building and frowned. “Do you see any telegraph wires?”

  “No.” Miles’s jaw dropped “That’s dishonest.”

  “Assume everyone wants to steal our money,” Peter said. “Sourdoughs say there are two types of people in Skagway: the skinned and the skinners. We’ve landed in a lawless town on the edge of nowhere.”

  Miles trudged toward the beach. How could Peter discern people’s motives so much better than he could?

  Barges continued moving toward shore. The Alki steamed a plume of smoke as she rode at anchor, an insignificant piece of civilization against the dramatic Alaskan backdrop. Dozens of horses shook themselves dry on the rocky beach as Argonauts organized their soaked possessions. The thin sunshine provided little warmth, and a chill blew from the high mountains. Miles shivered in his wet clothes, but Sam needed his jacket more.

  At the water’s edge, Sam ignored the fast-talking men who addressed her. With her lanky frame and Miles’s bowler pulled low over her ears, it took sharp eyes to see her feminine features. Indeed, as she kicked at boxes and spat, she reminded Miles of Peter.

  Certainly she’d behaved more manly than Miles.

  Miles reached for a barrel when he joined her. “Peter says we shouldn’t trust anybody.”

  “He’s right,” Sam said. “See him waving? He must have found a spot.”

  They shuffled their goods a quarter mile down the muddy path. When they finally got everything moved, Peter pried opened a crate and pulled out a heavy canvas tent.

  Miles read the directions while Sam and Peter erected it.

  Peter pulled out another tent.

  “Why two?”

  He felt his face grow hot. “We’re not kids anymore. I thought Samantha needed privacy.”

  Peter turned to his sister. “Will you be comfortable in a tent by yourself ?”

  Sam stopped pounding stakes to push the hat off her face. “As long as you two are next to me, yes. If we find Pa, I may not be here long anyway. When can we start looking?”

  Peter shuffled his feet. “I’ll make inquiries tomorrow when I look for work.”

  “Work?” Sam frowned.

  “I figure to kill two birds with one stone: hunt for Pa and earn money. The people who got rich during the California gold rush were the folks who sold to the forty-niners. We’ll ask around for Pa, but if we carry freight over the White Pass at the same time, we can earn hard cash.”

  “I came to find Pa. He’s the only reason I’m here.”

  Peter picked up the white canvas and motioned for Miles to stretch his end over the tent poles. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

  Miles had trouble falling asleep after a week rocking on the Alki. Peter snoozed soundly beside him, but Miles eventually got up and pushed out the tent flap. A full moon rose over the mountains, and muffled voices rumbled from nearby tents. A bonfire lit the beach, and music called from Broadway, a mere block away. An owl hooted, and Miles looked up, amazed at the splendid stars filling the sky.

  “The heavens declare the glory of God,” he whispered.

  “And the firmament declares his handiwork.” Samantha stepped from her tent. “You’re not sleeping.”

  He could see her clearly in the moonlight, her chopped hair sticking up in all directions. The left side of her face was swollen, and Miles’s muscles tensed remembering the fight. At least she looked more feminine in a white nightgown.

  Nightgown.

  “Why are you dressed like that? What if someone sees you?”

  She scratched at the remains of her hair. “It felt so good to get out of Peter’s dirty clothes after a week, I didn’t think. I’ll go in the tent.”

  “It’s more prudent.” Miles hated to see her go.

  “You’re right.” Samantha sighed. “Thank you. I appreciate how you watched out for me on the ship.”

  “I’ll always defend you.”

  Samantha touched the cut on his cheek. “Good night.”

  Miles smiled. He could sleep now.

  Except he tripped on the stake peg and toppled Samantha’s tent.

  “Oh Miles!” Samantha groaned. “Forget what I said.”

  They re-erected her tent in silence and returned to bed.

  But Miles lay awake most of the night. Why had he thought Samantha would treat him any differently in Alaska?

  Chapter 7

  Skagway

  September 1897

  You want me to do what?” Sam dropped the frying pan.

  “Packing freight is the fastest way to prosperity,” Peter said. “We’ll split the jobs three ways in a rotation. One of us will stay in town to rest and hunt for Pa. The other two will haul goods to the pass for the Klondikers.”

  “I can’t manage horses or mules. Why don’t we look for Pa first? Once we find him, you can go on your way,” Sam said.

  “Even if we found him, there’s no money to return you to Washington.” Peter uncharacteristically twisted his hat in his hands.

  Sam gaped at Miles. “You spent all my money?”

  “Peter told me to spend it all to outfit us. I’d have been more careful if I’d known it was your savings.” He picked up the frying pan.

  Peter patted the money belt he wore under his shirt. “All we have left is here. Thirty dollars. It might pay your way if we begged the steamship captain, but then what? What would you live on?”

  The betrayal stabbed all the way to her spine. Three years of teaching hooligans in a small Port Orchard classroom had been transformed into the crated goods stacked around them. Tents, clothing, food, and equipment were the physical remains of her college dream. She didn’t care if she was supposed to be a young man, she let them see her eyes pool with tears. What would Mama have said?

  “The packers driving horse teams make twenty-five dollars a day. With all three of us working, we can earn a lot of money in no time. Then when we find Pa, you can decide what you want to do.” Peter’s voice rang with his traditional confidence.

  Sam snatched the frying pan and slammed it against a crate. Peter could not keep making life-changing decisions for her. “I came to find Pa, nothing else.”

  “We’ll ask around for him. The sooner we get jobs, though, the sooner you’ll have your money. Deal?”

  “No. I came to find Pa. We need to look for him.”

  “We’ll ask around today. Somebody must know something about him, since he sent a letter from here,” Peter said. “But we’ve got to act quickly if we’re going to work. People want to get over the pass before winter. Now’s the time to haul goods.”

  “You can’t just keep making decisions without discussing them with us. All for one and one for all means we discuss what we’re going to do before one of us just decides. Isn’t that right, Miles?”

  He put up his hands. “I’m here to support both of you. But we do need to look for your father.”

  “We’re going to look for him,” Peter said. “But we’re going to look for work, too. Sam needs her money back.”

  Did she have a choice? It burned that she had to agree, but his argument made sense yet again. “Miles, you need to pray we find Pa soon. I don’t trust Peter. He’s probably made some othe
r bargain with God.”

  “Maybe we should eat,” Miles said.

  Miles read the directions for constructing the camp stove and then dropped most of the pieces in the mud trying to set it up. Peter got the metal contraption burning hot within minutes. Samantha mixed flour, soda, and water to make flapjacks. They drank boiling coffee with condensed milk as sweetener, secured their possessions, and then explored Skagway.

  The town crackled with activity. Argonauts organized their possessions and argued among themselves. Whiskered Klondikers with determined faces packed heavy loads to Broadway, turned north, and headed up the Skagway River to White Pass. Grim men plodded the rutted muddy road, leading sickly nags overburdened with goods.

  The sawmill at the water’s edge shrieked out planks in a cloud of pungent cedar sawdust. Barking dogs and the jingling reins of pack animals livened the chilly morning. Samantha watched three young women enter a two-story building with a steep-pitched roof. Lace curtains hung in the upper windows. Faye leaned out to shout hello.

  “Don’t look at her,” Miles said. “We don’t want people to think we’re acquainted with her type of woman.”

  Peter squinted in the sunlight. “They say Doc Runnalls handles the mail. Let’s see if he knows anything about Pa.”

  They picked their way along the mucky street lined with new buildings to a hovel marked Mail Office. “He’s the closest thing we got to a postmaster,” a grizzled Sourdough explained. “He meets the steamers when they come into port and hands off the mail. Twenty-five cents a letter—expensive.”

  “Harris?” The bespectacled doctor shook his head. “Don’t know the name.”

  “He’s a missionary, a big man like my brother,” Sam said. “Pa sent a letter in June saying he was headed this way to finish a job.”

  “Haven’t seen many missionaries in Skagway. It’s too crude and lawless with people mostly passing through. A fellow they call Peg Leg lives down the canal with some Tlingits, but I never heard his real name or if he’s a missionary.”

  “That wouldn’t be him,” Peter said. “Pa’s a strong man. He’s been traveling well-nigh two years. He’s got both his legs.”

  Runnalls shrugged. “Soapy Smith might know him. He’ll be at his saloon.”

  When they reached the saloon, which reeked of cheap liquor even on the boardwalk, Samantha noticed the shorefront minister entering ahead of them. Peter set his jaw. “Take Miles’s wallet and stay outside, Sam.”

  She stuck the wallet and her hand into the trousers’ front pocket and leaned against the building in a casual manlike way. Four women flounced by wearing colorful dresses and heavily fringed silk shawls. She stared after their saucy confidence.

  “No luck,” Miles said when the two men rejoined her. “They offered to hire us to haul freight, but we turned them down. We’ll check with more reputable packers.”

  “This Soapy Smith controls the town.” Peter put on his hat. “Stay away from him and his con men.”

  When Sam described the fancy women, Peter drew his eyebrows together. “This is a dangerous place. Keep to yourself.”

  “How will I find Pa without talking to people?”

  “Do you think Pa would know sporting women and con men?”

  Samantha had not seen her father in two years. She had no idea.

  Peter and Miles left before dawn the next morning. They would lead a string of pack mules six miles to Liarsville at the base of White Pass and return to Skagway late in the afternoon. “I’ll try to get back early.” Miles wore worry lines across his forehead. “I’ll go with you to ask around for your pa then. Don’t go near anyone who looks threatening.”

  Sam shook her head. “Folks see me as a boy. I’ll be safe. Help Peter find his fortune.”

  “It’s not like that,” he began, but Sam turned away.

  She asked at the lumber mill if they’d heard of Donald Harris or seen a very tall man with fair hair starting to thin. No one had.

  Sam rubbed her hands as she tramped toward the business district. Would Pa still have hair? Two years in a cold climate might have changed him.

  She stopped in the shops lining Broadway: a real estate investment office, a hardware store, and a mercantile. Mr. Brown at the mercantile looked through a ledger he kept behind the counter. “No Harris listed. If he’s been in the store, he must have paid cash. Sorry, sonny.”

  She steered clear of the pool hall and passed four men throwing dice against the jail.

  The door burst open at a saloon, and a black-goateed man tossed out a native. “Don’t come back.”

  The mahogany-skinned man rolled in the dirt and moaned. Sam stepped toward him. “Do you need help?”

  He groaned in a tongue she didn’t understand, shook her off, and crept away on hands and knees. Giggles sounded from a neighboring window. “You can help me, honey,” shouted a fleshy woman dressed in a loose wrapper.

  Sam cringed and headed north.

  By the time she’d reached the end of the street, Sam had no leads on her father and a disgust with the town. Was no one honorable?

  “Hey there, boy, do you want a job?”

  A petite woman wearing a flour sack tied around her waist beckoned from a rough log hut. A placard reading, RESTAURANT, hung over the entry. “I need someone to wash dishes. I’ll pay two bits.”

  The woman ushered Sam into a crowded room where a pot of water boiled on the stove. “Start there. I’ve got an hour before customers return. I’m Mollie.”

  A plank table with crude benches ran the width of the restaurant. Mollie pushed stray hairs off her face with her forearm and returned to chopping onions, chattering the entire time.

  “You a cheechako? I’m a newcomer, too. I got here last week, and Reverend Dickey found me this job working for Mr. Brown who owns the mercantile. You headed to the Klondike?” Her blade never stopped moving. “Once you finish, I’ll pay you to peel potatoes. ”

  Sam kept her head down, not trusting her voice.

  “How old are you?” Mollie asked. “Fifteen, sixteen?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mollie showed Sam how to keep track of the bread baking in the tiny teninch-square oven. “Do you know how to cook flapjacks? We’ll need filling when the stew runs out.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Men trooped in when the friendly bread aroma seeped from the cabin. Sam fried flapjacks while Mollie served food, collected money, joshed with the Argonauts, and made everyone feel at home. By the time they scraped the last of the stew from the pot, they’d fed three dozen men.

  Mollie jingled the coins in her pocket, pushed the hair out of her eyes, and bustled to the stove. “You got yourself a job if you’ll come back tomorrow at dawn.”

  “Yes ma’am. I will.”

  Mollie laughed. “What’s your real name, sweetie? Since we’ll be working together, I’d like to make sure you’re a girl.”

  “Samantha Harris.” Sam felt her face flush.

  “It’s hard to be a single woman in this town,” Mollie said. “Maybe I should dress as a man. Do you think I can fool anyone?”

  With her curly hair, sparkling eyes, trim shape, and small hands, Mollie was all female. It took a tall, spare figure like Sam’s hiding in men’s clothing to stride through the town without concern.

  Sam grinned. “No one would mistake your fair sex.”

  Mollie held out her hand. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  They shook on it.

  Sam whistled as she walked to her tent after work, hands in her pockets. She could make her own plans. Peter didn’t dictate her life. She’d find Pa without him.

  Chapter 8

  White Pass and Skagway

  October 1897

  Miles hated freighting work.

  Everything about the job disgusted him.

  The vulgar, arrogant men desperate for riches. The abused horses forced to carry overweight loads. The glacial Skagway River he sloshed into several times a day. The fear he might stumble off the narro
w trail into canyons spiked with boulders. The interminable hours of waiting when the foul path backed up because something far ahead had broken or fallen and blocked traffic.

  The change in Peter over the last six weeks bothered him even more.

  Always craving adventure and excitement, Peter now had a bad case of gold fever. He strapped on his snow glasses and went to work every morning with determination. While Miles appreciated Peter’s resolve to repay Samantha, his single-minded fervor for every cent was troubling.

  “Everyone has a price, and these Argonauts need to pay for what they’re getting,” Peter explained during one of their waits. The hard labor, long hours, and frigid wind had pared down their features, giving Peter a golden wolfish look. Miles had taken in his belt two notches, and his shirts felt tight across the shoulders.

  “Why does it always have to be about money? Is it necessary to charge for every service?” Miles preferred to include minor assists in his daily fee, but Peter debited everything and expected a tip as well.

  “Yes. It’s a brutal world, and traveling to the Yukon to prospect for gold in the Klondike River isn’t going to be easy on them.”

  “What about us?” Miles asked. “How will we manage?”

  Peter raised his jacket lapels and tugged the knit cap over his ears. The mule beside him shifted, and Peter adjusted its load. The line of Klondikers ahead grumbled and kicked at rocks.

  “Don’t you feel stronger? You climb this pass without wheezing now. You needed to get into shape before our hard work begins.”

  Miles removed his glasses and fished out his red calico kerchief to polish the lenses. “This has been training for me?”

  Peter poked him. “Your fat’s gone and your endurance is much improved. We’ve got money in our pockets and information. We’ll be ready to hike over the pass for ourselves soon.”

  Miles replaced his glasses and pulled out his pocket New Testament. If they got too delayed, he liked to walk along the pack line offering to read encouraging scripture. He held out the book to Peter. “Do you want to read today?”

  “I’ll manage the animals so you can.” Peter rubbed his mule’s nose. “The way packers treat these poor animals is the worst part of this job. I’m glad Sam isn’t here. She couldn’t handle the violence.”