A Pioneer Christmas Collection

by Kathleen Fuller

  Miles agreed. The restaurant job kept her safe and warm, though he wondered at the wisdom of two women serving food to strange men. Of course, no one knew Sam was a woman. He shook his head. He couldn’t imagine how men could be so blind. Every time he looked at her, his heart raced.

  He opened his New Testament and reread the note she’d slipped him that morning: “I thank my God, making mention of thee always in my prayers.”

  Miles kissed the note. He’d cherish Philemon 1:4 forever.

  Miles and Peter usually only hauled freight to Liarsville, where they cached the goods for Klondikers to pick up later. They often managed two trips a day. That day, however, they were going higher, and Miles worried about leaving Sam alone in the unguarded tent overnight. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

  “For the ninth time, yes. I left her the gun, and she’s a better shot than you anyway. If she gets scared, she can stay with Mollie.”

  “Not if she’s a boy.” Miles brushed a snowflake off his nose.

  Peter shrugged. “With the new preacher setting up a church, I think she’ll transform into respectable Samantha soon.”

  “Which will make Skagway even more dangerous for her. Why won’t you help her look for your father? She’s visited every tent and shack in town. It’s not safe. She’s talking about hiking outside of town to look, and that’s plain foolish.”

  “I ask everyone I see. The weather’s turning bad, and he hasn’t come into town. I don’t know where he is. Runnalls hasn’t gotten any mail.”

  “What about that Peg Leg living with the Tlingits? Why don’t you check him out?”

  Peter snorted. “My father would have said something in his letter if he’d been injured. Besides, Runnalls says it’s a four-hour hike in good weather if you can find someone to guide you. There’s no reason to risk our lives and lose two days of hauling fees without anything more to go on.”

  “So you have made inquiries?”

  “I’m trying to be pragmatic. If I don’t get my hopes up, I can better cope if we never find him.” Peter slapped at the thickening snowflakes.

  Miles’s heart sank. He’d been afraid of the same thing. But what about Sam’s feelings? How could he protect her from the inevitable? “Have I earned enough money yet? I’d like to stay in town.”

  “Sam can take care of herself. You don’t need to protect her.” Peter tugged the mule forward.

  Miles shook his head. “No. Skagway’s dangerous. I’ll ask for a job at the mercantile for the winter. I’d like to help build the new church anyway.”

  “Suit yourself. You won’t make as much money.”

  The snowflakes gusted. Miles tucked his scarf over his beard and thought of Sam’s desperate searching. “Money isn’t everything.”

  “I’m glad you’re working in town,” Sam said as she picked up supplies for the restaurant.

  Miles nodded. He ate every meal at the restaurant and stayed into the evening with the two women. “The job is better, and I get to see you more.”

  She hesitated before leaning over the mercantile counter to whisper. “It makes me feel safer knowing you’re nearby.”

  Before Miles could respond, Sam spun around and exited. He watched her try to walk like a man on the boardwalk and chuckled. She couldn’t fool him, no matter what she wore.

  Miles battled guilt every morning he sat on a stool beside a crackling stove while Peter hauled the trail alone. Snow covered the ground now, and dark clouds often loomed over the narrow Skagway valley. He watched the sky every afternoon, wondering what would happen to those on the trail in a blizzard.

  Peter insisted he’d charge more.

  Miles prayed more.

  Whenever a Sourdough entered to make a purchase, Miles asked if he knew Donald Harris. No one recognized the name. One or two had heard rumors, but most thought missionaries lived further down the west side of Lynn Canal in Haines. One Tlingit tribe southeast of Skagway hosted a skokum, but no one knew his real name.

  “Old man,” explained a Tlingit in broken English who had come in to buy cornmeal. “No hair, bad leg, round belly.” His description didn’t match the robust skokum—man—Miles knew from childhood.

  From his seat in the warm mercantile, Miles daily witnessed Alaska’s heartbreak. If he hadn’t lost Facts for Klondikers, he would have burned it in disgust. No words could have prepared him for Skagway. He saw Argonauts scrambling to land their possessions on shore. He watched Soapy Smith’s gang fleece newcomers and the mostly futile attempts by responsible citizens to intervene. Packs of abandoned dogs roamed town fighting over food scraps.

  The most troubling residents were the sporting women.

  Flocks arrived on every steamship, fancy women wearing elaborate hairstyles and paint on their pretty faces. They pranced up slushy Broadway to the twostory houses across the street. He seldom saw them leave, and indignation fired his soul. Why would a woman choose a life of degradation?

  In the doorway, Mr. Brown sniffed as the women strolled past swinging their hips. “We’re trying to build a civilized town, and those women are bad elements. As a minister, you should steer clear of them.”

  “I’m not ordained yet,” Miles reminded him. He tried not to think of the women and what they did in the house across the street.

  “You’re close enough for this town.” Mr. Brown left for the waterfront to claim supplies sent on the most recent steamship.

  Miles stepped to the shelves to rearrange the stock. The door opened and Faye entered wearing a sweet-scented silk shawl over a blazing blue dress. “I’ve wanted to stop in and say hello, honey, but old sourpuss wouldn’t let me through the door.”

  “How may I help you?” Miles looked past her, hoping no one would peer in the window.

  “I’ve come for Pear’s Soap. This climate affects my complexion.”

  She sounded stiff, and he glanced out the corner of his eyes. Dimples of irritation appeared on either side of her pursed ruby lips. “Are you too proud to take my cash?”

  “I’ll check our supply.”

  “You’re looking good, preacher man. I’m surprised working in this store could cause such a change in your physique.”

  He found a bar of Pear’s Soap and laid it on the counter, still not looking at her.

  “Where’s young Sam these days? She’s not bulked up like you, is she?”

  Startled, Miles finally met her eye. “No. She’s working up the street with Mollie.”

  Faye’s eyes shocked wide open and her voice shrilled. “What do you mean up the street? I thought you were a God-fearing man. Which crib? I should slap you.” Her face flushed with rage.

  Horror dawned. “She’s not working—” Miles couldn’t say the words. “She and Mollie run a restaurant.” He pushed the soap across the counter. “Ten cents.”

  Faye lifted her chin. “Is she still dressing as a boy?”

  He nodded.

  “Keep her that way. The men in this town can’t be trusted.” She dropped a coin from her crimson velvet bag and picked up the soap. Faye swept to the door and paused. “You, preacher man, should pay more attention to how Jesus treated sinners and Pharisees.”

  The door shut behind her with a soft click.

  Chapter 9

  November brought snowdrifts and ice to the Skagway waterfront, while the pass became nearly impossible to traverse. Sam watched men trudge by the restaurant each day. Were they all as determined as Peter with his chapped red skin and thick beard? How long could they go on?

  “Until they close the pass,” Peter said. “Then they’ll shift to the Chilkoot.”

  “Will you hunt for Pa then?” Sam stirred the oatmeal on the restaurant stove. She prepared him a hot breakfast every morning to guard against the arctic conditions.

  “I’ve been asking. No news.”

  Sam splatted oatmeal into a bowl and thrust it at her brother. “What about the outlying areas? We’re practically snowed in here—when will you visit the natives?”

&nbs
p; “It’s not that easy, Sam.” Peter stared at his breakfast.

  “Only because you haven’t looked.” Fury vied with despair. To give her hands something to do, she passed the coffeepot to Miles.

  He shook his head. “No word at the mercantile either.”

  “Christmas is coming.” She tried to steady her voice. Peter never responded well to anger. “He said he had a project to finish up here and then he’d come home. Where is he?”

  “Is Christmas significant?” Mollie returned the coffeepot to the hot stove.

  Sam slumped at the table, chin in hand. “Pa loves Christmas. He thinks Jesus’ birth is the best way to explain God coming to earth and being accessible to all.”

  “True.” Miles picked up his spoon.

  “I don’t think we’re going to hear from him by Christmas.” Peter stretched his arm across the table to take her hand. “You need to face facts, Sam. I don’t think he’s coming back.”

  All the air disappeared from her chest, and the frozen chill of fear that had haunted her stabbed Sam’s soul. “Is that why you haven’t looked for him? You think he’s dead?”

  “Everyone knows we’re looking for him. You torment Runnalls about the mail every other day. You buttonhole every native you see. I don’t have to go to the outlying areas. Everyone in Alaska knows Mollie’s assistant Sam is looking for his father.” He pushed back from the table and reached for his knit cap.

  “What are we going to do?” Sam crossed her arms tight against her body and tried not to whimper.

  “I’m going to haul over the pass. Another couple weeks of this and I’ll have enough to send you back to Washington. You can go to school in the spring.” He stuffed a loaf of bread into his pack and banged out the door, taking her hopes and unanswered questions with him.

  Miles cleared away the remains of breakfast. Sam stared at nothing, trying to slow her breathing and absorb Peter’s words. Mollie took her knife to the onions and began to chop. They worked in silence for a time before Miles slid in beside her and took her hands.

  “Peter doesn’t know everything. He’s just as scared as you are. All he can do is take care of you as best he can.”

  Sam nodded. She knew that.

  “You’ve got to have faith,” Mollie said. “Maybe your father’s working so hard he hasn’t needed to come to town. Maybe he’ll hear of the church being built and want to come see it even if he can’t get home. It’ll be finished by Christmas.”

  “We can’t give up hope,” Miles agreed. “Anything can happen.”

  “I just want to see Pa again.” Sam put her head on the table. “I’m not giving up before Christmas.”

  Mollie had sailed to Skagway on the same ship as the Reverend R. M. Dickey, and they were fast friends. Caught up by the reverend’s enthusiastic vision, the civilized townspeople had banded together to construct a church building. Funds had come from all walks of life: Sourdoughs, businessmen, packers, even Soapy Smith. Mollie kept a jar at the restaurant and encouraged customers to donate tips for the lumber and nails.

  Mollie, Samantha, and Miles volunteered to help the effort. The women made coffee and served sandwiches, but after Miles split a board, hammered his thumb, and nearly fell off the roof, Pastor Dickey asked him to teach a small Bible study. Samantha agreed with the preacher’s carefully chosen words: “Let’s build the congregation while we construct God’s house. God can better use Miles’s Bible skills in a less physical way.”

  Mollie offered the restaurant as a meeting place with Mr. Brown’s approval. “Sam and I can listen to the lessons while we clean up.”

  Sam loved the lectures. Miles had learned a lot at the seminary. His teaching blew a glow of pride into her heart.

  Miles began every meeting with prayer for Donald Harris. He asked each student if he’d heard the name. No one ever had, but the fact others knew to look for him eased Sam’s worry. She announced a prize to the men who bundled into the restaurant: “If you find my father, I’ll praise God and make you an apple pie.”

  On the evenings they finished kitchen duties early, Sam and Mollie helped the students locate and read passages from Miles’s extra Bibles. Sam assisted men writing letters home. Miles shared information about the Klondike goldfields he had gleaned while doing research and from working at the mercantile.

  “You must be pleased folks want to learn about the Bible,” Mollie said one night after the students left.

  “You’re the reason the men come, Mollie.” Miles adjusted his glasses. “How many marriage proposals did you get today?”

  “Two serious, three fake. What do you suppose will happen when Sam reveals her true identity?”

  “The class will double.” Miles held out her coat. Sam slipped her arms into the sleeves.

  “How much longer can you get away with your disguise?” Miles murmured.

  Mollie laughed. “Good question.”

  “When the church is finished, I will worship God as a lady.” Sam put on Miles’s old bowler hat.

  “Then the real trouble will begin.” He buttoned up his parka.

  Mollie saw them out.

  The cold night air hit their faces like a chisel. Sam took Miles’s arm, and they huddled together on their walk home.

  “Do you like Mollie?” Sam asked.

  Miles nodded. “She’s the finest person I’ve met here.”

  During their months in Skagway, the town had taken on a more established look. Buildings now stood on either side of Mollie’s restaurant, and while the rutted frozen streets were dark, the snow reflected enough light that they could see. “Mollie’s talking about opening her own restaurant at the top of the pass,” Samantha said.

  “Do you want to go with her?” Miles stepped carefully; he’d tripped the night before and sprawled face down into a drift.

  “No. Listening and helping you makes me miss teaching. If anything, I’d like to start a school. There’s enough children in town.” She squeezed his arm. “Your work on the trail gave you practical applications for your lessons. Some men may come to admire Mollie, but you’re telling stories about God they want to hear. You’re a good teacher.”

  Miles clutched the Bibles to his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Your words mean a great deal.”

  She leaned closer. Miles no longer acted like the bungling boy she’d grown up with. “The beard makes you look distinguished.”

  He smiled. “Will I look proper enough to escort you to church soon?”

  Sam laughed. “Only if you wear your bowler.”

  As they turned off the boardwalk, a shadow scurried from behind a twostory house. “Are you one of the preachers?”

  “He is.” Sam dropped her hand. She’d forgotten about her disguise in the dark street.

  “Please, sir, I need help.” The woman’s voice wavered. “I want out, and they’re after me. Can you take me somewhere safe?”

  Miles stiffened. “Who’s after you?”

  “Please,” she coughed. “They’ll beat me. I have nowhere to go.”

  Two figures loomed. Sam plucked off her hat and pushed it on the frail woman’s head. She took the woman’s arm and dragged her in the direction of their tents two rows away. The neighboring tents glowed from the lanterns inside, leaving a cool whiteness gleaming on the snowbank. “What’s your name? How can we help you?”

  “Lucy.” She shivered. “They’re coming for me. I know they are.

  Sam opened the tent flap. The woman trembled. “I can’t go in there.”

  Miles stopped. “She’s right, Sam, your reputation will suffer.”

  Two brutes ran up. “You’ve got something that belongs to us.” The taller one reached for Lucy.

  “Pretty strange doings,” the shorter man said. “You fancy yourself a preacher, and here you’re taking a sporting girl to your tent.”

  “You can’t take her if she doesn’t want to go!” Sam put her hand on Lucy’s arm.

  “You don’t think so?” The big man shoved her. Sam fell ag
ainst Miles, and the two stumbled against the tent. The men dragged a screaming Lucy down the street.

  The bowler hat rolled to a stop beside Sam, who struggled to catch her breath.

  “I’m so sorry. Did they hurt you?” Miles held her close. “We’ll find Lucy and help her. I’m here, and I won’t leave you. I’ll keep you safe.”

  As she nestled against him, Samantha knew she didn’t want to be manly anymore.

  Chapter 10

  December

  The respectable citizens of Skagway completed Union Church a week before Christmas. True to her word, Samantha put away her nickname, returned Peter’s borrowed clothes, cinched up her corset, and swept into church wearing a woolen skirt. Mollie had trimmed her ragged hair straight across. She held her chin high, and male heads turned as she and Peter took seats in the third row.

  Mollie hugged her. “You’re beautiful. We’ll have even longer lines outside the restaurant today.”

  Miles figured she was right.

  Samantha seemed oblivious to the stares as she focused on Reverend Dickey’s words. She sang the hymns and Christmas carols with her pleasing soprano. Men clustered about her after the service, and Samantha brushed them off with a lighthearted, “Time for work.”

  When she caught Miles’s eye, Samantha winked.

  As they exited the church, Peter pulled Miles aside. “The pass will close after the next snowstorm. Hauling is finished here until spring.”

  Miles nodded. “We need to find better quarters for the winter. Will you hunt for your father now?”

  “There’s plenty of packing work on the Chilkoot Trail,” Peter said through cracked lips. “I figure two more weeks and I’ll have enough money for Sam’s college in the spring. It won’t be everything I owe her, but enough to start. I’m going to head over there.”

  “She wants to find your father. Why don’t you help her?” Miles couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice.