“He was coming to the Skagway River area. Here we are. No one’s heard of him. Your parents haven’t forwarded a letter. He probably wandered off and couldn’t be bothered to write, if he’s even alive.”
“You can’t break Sam’s heart.” Miles sighed.
“Her heart’s going to be broken when he doesn’t turn up by Christmas. I’ll talk to her tonight.”
“How can you abandon her?” Miles demanded. “Especially if your father is dead. When are you coming back?”
Peter’s hand came down on his shoulder. “You’ll be here. I figure she can bunk with Mollie. Can you winter in your store until we’ve got enough money to head to the Klondike?”
Miles had already gotten permission. “I’ll give you my earnings. Skip the Chilkoot and do a thorough search for your father.”
Peter shook his head. “I’m counting on your pay to see us through the next year.”
Miles should have thought of that.
Mollie had invited the men to spend the day in the relatively warm restaurant. When they arrived, they found Mollie in tears and Samantha indignant.
“We have to do something about this town. Mollie saw a woman she knew from home working as a sporting woman. It was Lucy. When we tried to talk to her, Soapy Smith’s gang threatened us.”
“Did they recognize you?” Miles had feared this.
“What does it matter? Lucy’s the one in trouble.” Samantha paced the cramped room.
Miles removed his gloves. “Do you know which house she’s in?”
“No. She wants to escape, and they’ve snagged her twice now.” Samantha tripped on her long skirt. “She’s ill.”
Mollie reached for a knife. “I’ll chop onions while we think of something to do.”
Peter shook his head. Miles had no ideas. Samantha kneaded the bread dough with vengeance and stuffed it into pans for the oven.
Night fell around four o’clock. Just before the dinner rush, Faye entered. “Is this where Mollie lives?”
“What do you want?” Miles stood up.
“I’m looking for Mollie. Lucy over at the house is sick and needs help.”
The sporting woman who had sailed from Seattle didn’t look confident or saucy anymore. Her dull hair slumped. Her face paint no longer precisely outlined her lips. Powder to cover the circles under Faye’s eyes accentuated her weariness. Miles felt a tug of pity, which he quickly covered with bravado.
“Why don’t you take care of her?”
Long, blackened lashes blinked twice. “She wants Mollie.”
“Mollie’s busy,” Peter said.
Faye pressed her lips together and glared at Miles. “What if Lucy’s dying and wants a preacher man? Will you come?”
He frowned.
“How can you not go?” Samantha whispered.
“I’m not ordained,” he muttered.
“Go.”
Mollie grabbed her coat. “Peter, will you stay and help Samantha feed the men? Miles can fill in until Reverend Dickey can come. Let’s go.”
Miles carried his Bible and tried to estimate the damage to his reputation as he followed Mollie and Faye past Soapy Smith’s pool hall and the mercantile. He shuddered as they entered the two-story establishment reeking of cheap perfume and filled spittoons. Faye led them down a gloomy hallway into a tiny room. Lucy lay coughing on an iron cot.
Mollie knelt at the bedside and ran her hand across Lucy’s perspiring forehead. “We’re here, little one,” she crooned. “Miles will read you the stories.”
How could he not?
By the light of a small wax candle, he read the Gospel of John, assuring Lucy of God’s love for her and willingness to forgive her sins. The woman coughed and panted, but her eyes focused on Miles.
Mollie straightened the bedclothes, wiped Lucy’s brow with a damp cloth, and tried to coax liquid into her. Faye stopped in periodically with broth for the woman, but it soon became apparent Lucy wouldn’t survive long. When Reverend Dickey arrived, Miles had reached a contentment about sitting with her he could not explain.
Lucy’s face softened, relaxed, and slid into peace as Reverend Dickey pronounced absolution over her soul. Miles stood in a corner to watch. And so he remained when the young woman passed into eternity, taking a surprisingly sympathetic piece of his heart with her.
Two days later, Reverend Dickey hosted Lucy’s funeral at Union Church over the objections of many in his fledgling congregation. Disgruntled townspeople stayed away.
With no flowers available in snowy Skagway, Samantha used Miles’s buck knife to cut evergreen boughs and bunches of red berries. He helped carry them to the church and followed her decorating directions, hanging the boughs along the wall.
When they finished, the new church smelled of pine and winterberries.
Miles centered a Bible on the plain wooden altar.
“Christmas is coming.” Samantha squeezed her eyes shut. “Dare I ask to see my father for Christmas?”
He couldn’t help himself. Miles stretched his arms to her, and Samantha went into them, trembling. “I’m starting to lose hope we’ll find him, and then I don’t know what I’ll do. What good was it to come here?”
Miles rubbed circles on her back and kissed her hair. “You’ve made this church and this town a better place by your presence. Don’t you know that?”
She nodded against his chest, and he continued. “Your hard work enables Peter to climb the pass every day with pockets full of food. Your voice cheers discouraged men. Your contributions have put together a church in a lawless place. You’ve made a difference here. I thank God for your presence.”
“We couldn’t have managed without you.” Samantha rested her cheek on his shoulder. “You’ve been patient with Peter, helped build this church, and you’ve protected me. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, too.”
He closed his eyes to let her words sink in. Maybe coming to Alaska was proving his calling in more than one way.
“There’s more to be done.” Samantha broke away. “I need to help.”
At ten o’clock, Miles, Peter, and two Sourdoughs carried in Lucy’s plain cedar casket. Reverend Dickey waited near the altar at the foot of an elaborately carved cross three Tlingit natives had delivered to the church that morning.
Almost every sporting woman in Skagway, close to fifty in number, filled the pews. Samantha, Miles, Peter, and Mollie sat in the front row, singing the funeral hymns in full voice. Miles leaned forward in professional respect when Reverend Dickey challenged the mourners.
“Dear Sisters,” he said, “listen to this invitation from Jesus. ‘Come unto me all ye that are weary.’ You are weary of the life you have been living. Leave it. It holds nothing for you but sorrow, suffering, and shame. Jesus received Mary Magdalene. He said to another who had been led into sin, ‘Neither do I condemn you—go and sin no more.’”
The women wailed so loudly the hair on Miles’s arms stood up.
After Reverend Dickey pronounced the benediction, Miles set his old bowler on his head and slipped outside. His soul churned, and he needed to calm down. Was it possible sporting women could repent after just one sermon?
He walked along the shore, his boots crunching on sand and rocks mixed with ice, where he saw Captain O’Brien, a steamship captain, conversing with a Sourdough named Jim.
“What’s the news, Mr. Parker?”
Miles described Lucy’s funeral, still astonished at Reverend Dickey’s invitation for the women to give up the sporting life.
The captain spoke slowly. “Do you think any of them will do it?”
“How could they? They have no place to go,” Miles said.
“Go to the church and tell them I have plenty of room on my ship tomorrow. I’ll take anyone who wants to return to Seattle for free. It won’t cost them a cent.”
Miles’s mouth dropped open. Here, he thought, was true Christianity—seeing a need and responding to it. Hope flared, but he shook his head. “What good will tha
t do? They’ve no money. They’ll have to return to the same way of life in Seattle.”
“No they won’t,” Jim said. “I already found my bonanza. I’ll give Captain O’Brien money to cover all their needs.”
The men shook hands. Miles retraced his steps, his soul reeling.
Two doors from the church, a gang of Soapy Smith’s men leaned against a building and glared at him. Three held clubs.
He straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. Would he be able to help the sporting women escape Skagway’s thugs?
Chapter 11
Samantha and Mollie brewed tea and served biscuits to the sorrowful women. A dozen wept while others touched dainty handkerchiefs to their damp eyes and sniffed.
Miles burst through the door waving his arms. Samantha set down the teapot and hurried to him. His ruddy face and flashing eyes made him look confident and in charge, taller.
Mollie joined them as he described Captain O’Brien’s offer to Reverend Dickey. Mollie clapped her hands. “God is using you! Thanks be to God!”
Samantha felt a stab of jealousy. Why didn’t she say that?
Reverend Dickey climbed onto a pew. “For those women interested in a fresh start, Captain O’Brien will take you to Seattle tomorrow for free. Anyone who wants to take him up on the offer, come tell me.”
Thirty women gathered around Reverend Dickey, burbling with excitement. Samantha and Mollie hugged each other. “Lucy will not have died in vain if these women escape,” Mollie exclaimed.
Miles joined them. “A little problem. They want their possessions and are afraid to retrieve them.” He rubbed his full-bearded chin. “Soapy Smith’s gang won’t like this.”
Samantha surveyed the room. “What can we do?”
“Where’s Peter?”
“He went to the tent.”
Miles blew out his breath. “Reverend Dickey is making a list of what each woman wants from her room. I’ll get the lists and then go for the marshal and Peter. We can’t do this without their help.”
“I’m coming with you.” Samantha put on her cloak when Miles had the list and followed him out.
“It’s not safe. You’ve already been assaulted by these men. You saw with Lucy what they’ve done to the sporting women. Stay here at church.” Miles marched down the street.
“One for all, Miles. I want to help you.” Happiness bubbled inside her, and she took his arm. “We’ll do this together.”
Six of Soapy’s men loitered outside a pool hall. The scowls on their hairy faces made her stomach curl. Samantha shivered.
Miles slowed his steps and patted her hand. “Let’s not make them suspicious.”
“Okay.” She kissed his cheek.
“Samantha!”
“A good distraction, right? Keep walking.”
Snowflakes swirled and dreary clouds threatened more as they entered the hovel that housed official Skagway justice. The marshal sprawled in a chair leaned against the wall, a potbellied stove emitting toasty heat.
When Miles described the situation, the marshal’s chair thudded forward. “Are you out of your mind? Don’t you know Soapy’s income depends on these women turning over their earnings to him? He and his men won’t give them up without a fight. I can’t do this.”
“How can you not?” Miles asked.
Samantha’s heart soared with Miles’s confidence. But she also remembered how her body ached from the skirmish over Lucy. How could they thwart the thugs outside?
“What kind of preacher man are you?” the marshal grumbled. “This is going to cause me no end of trouble, but I’ll do it if the church folks will back me.”
“We’ll need God’s help to be successful. Let’s pray. Then I’ll send Samantha for her giant brother. Round up some men, and we’ll meet you at Mollie’s restaurant.”
“Our boy has grown up.” Peter laughed when Samantha told him of Miles’s plan.
“Why do you say things like that?” Samantha demanded. “You belittle him. He’s taken a principled stand and is facing real danger for the good of these women. You have no reason to make fun of him.”
Peter’s eyebrows went up, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you finally recognizing Miles’s value?”
“One for all and all for one,” Samantha retorted. “I’m changing my clothes.”
“Why?”
“I’m going with you.”
Peter blocked her exit. “No you’re not. This isn’t safe. The sporting women houses are no place for my sister.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not going as your sister. I’m going as Sam, your brother. Besides, you know I’m a better shot than Miles.”
They met the marshal and half a dozen deputies at Mollie’s restaurant. Miles sighed when he saw Sam dressed in her brother’s clothes. “I suppose you had to come along, but you’ll stay with Peter and me.”
The marshal divided them into three squads, gave each group a list, and directed them to the church when done. “Soapy’s gang knows something’s up, but let’s keep them confused as long as possible. As soon as we’ve got everything, we’ll escort the women to the ship. They’ll be safe there.”
Miles led Peter and Sam to the house on Broadway across from the mercantile. They stepped into a wallpapered parlor stuffy with horsehair furniture and Victorian furbelows. The cloying scent made Sam wrinkle her nose.
A squat man with a plug moustache tromped down the stairs. “The girls are out. Only Faye’s here. You’ll have to take your turn.”
“May we see Faye?” Sam asked. Miles displayed the list.
“I can’t let you go through their things,” the man sputtered. “Does Soapy know about this?”
“I’ll handle them, Billy.” Faye glided downstairs. Red eyes sagged in her gaunt face.
“Soapy’s not going to like it,” Billy growled.
“Follow me, Sam. The other two should stay below.” Faye led Sam to the first door at the top of the stairs. “We have to work fast. Let me see the list.”
Faye stripped the dingy pillowcase off the bed and rummaged through the plain bureau to find what the woman wanted. Sam examined the cramped, windowless room: dresses and a worn silk wrapper hung on nails. Face paint littered the bureau top, and a small round mirror hung above. A wooden chair draped with clothing and a pair of overturned boots on the floor gave the room color and texture. The rumpled bed linens needed to be washed.
Sam turned away. The whole room reeked of a cheap sadness that suggested endless tears.
Seven women’s names were on the list. Faye went through their possessions while Sam carried the pillowcases and tried not to react to the grim living situations. Most of the women in this house would travel to Seattle. Sam stopped at the last door where a window faced the street. “Is this your room? What are you bringing?”
Faye’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not coming.”
“Why not? This is your chance. They’ll help you start over. You don’t have to live like this.”
Faye closed her eyes a moment and then straightened. Her voice turned sassy, and she stretched her lips into a confident smile. “I came north for the Klondike. Skagway is a stopping off point before I cross the pass and make my fortune come spring. I’ll turn civilized when I’ve got a big enough poke to buy me a big house in Seattle with a water view. You got to stay focused, Sam, to get what you want.”
“No,” Sam shook her head. “This isn’t what you want.”
Faye’s eyes narrowed. “It’s what I want today, missy, and it’s my business. You need to decide what’s important to you. That preacher man loves you. Ask yourself what you want, and then choose how you’ll live. Time for you to go.”
Was Faye right? Could Samantha choose how she wanted to live her life? Had her presence in Skagway really helped others as Miles said? If she never found Pa, would this trip still have been worthwhile?
Sam followed Faye’s swaying hips and clicking high heels back down the hall. At the stairs, Faye pointed. �
�Go. Tell my girls good-bye. Don’t come back.”
Samantha considered Faye one long moment and then hurried downstairs. She handed the pillowcases to Peter and Miles. Billy gnawed the end of a moldy cigar.
“Remember,” Miles told him. “You don’t need to stay in this life either.”
“Get out of here.” The man stood back from the open doorway. “I ain’t seen nothing.”
Across the street, a bearded man wearing a suit with a bolo tie pushed a black Stetson off his forehead. He ambled over to greet them in the middle of Broadway.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Smith,” Miles said.
Samantha turned wide eyes to Peter. He silenced her with a look and braced his shoulders. Sam followed suit, scrunching her face into a snarl.
“What have we got here, preacher man?” Soapy Smith drawled around a pungent cigar. “Ransacking the home of honest citizens?”
A low mutter rose from the boardwalk where four brutes glared.
Miles pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “No sir, just picking up some items for friends. You’ll excuse me, but we’re wanted at the church.”
“I don’t think so. Step into my parlor, I’d like to have a word with you. Your boys are welcome to join us if they leave their weapons at the bar.” Smith removed the cigar from his mouth and breathed smoke.
Sam prayed for wisdom.
Miles waited long enough for Soapy’s men to grow restless. His blond curls stuck out from under his bowler hat. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m doing a good work, and I can’t go into your parlor. We’re needed at the church.”
Soapy Smith dropped his cigar into the slush. “I helped build that church. They can wait for you.”
“We appreciate your monetary contribution, but we must be gone. Good day, sir.” Miles turned to walk away.
“Soapy! Come quick,” shouted a man running down Broadway. “They’re stealing our girls.”
Smith and his men took off, and the three musketeers hastened to Union Church. They handed the pillowcases to their owners and sat down. The frazzled marshal and his deputies burst through the doors an hour later, their arms full of women’s finery and bags. A dozen townspeople followed.
The marshal rubbed his lined forehead. “I may need to get on that ship myself. Soapy’s mighty riled. You should consider leaving town for a while, preacher man. He pulled a gun on me.”
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