In the Land of Gold

by Angela Christina Archer

  “How did you know him?”

  “I was his guide when he first traveled the Klondike. We parted ways in Dawson, but I always considered him a friend.” He crossed his arms. “My apologies for yeh loss. He was a good man.”

  I shrugged my shoulders, suddenly feeling like an utter fool. Was he telling me the truth? Was he lying to me? The coincidence was almost too odd to believe, and it twisted in my stomach. Did he think I was that gullible?

  “He gave it to yeh, though, didn’t he?”

  “Such is none of your business, Mr. O’Neill.” I scooped the handle of my bag in my hand and turned to stride away. Flynn grabbed my arm.

  “Miss Colton, yeh can’t stake that claim.”

  “And, why not?” I jerked free from his grip, my tone sharp.

  “Yeh got no business going up through the Klondike. It’s no place for a lady like yourself, and all that’s up there is trouble.”

  Anger tickled through my veins. Insulting me, yet again, now he was lecturing me on my life and my shortcomings.

  “Don’t you dare proceed to tell me what I can or can’t do. You don’t even know me.”

  “Please, just rethink about staking that claim.”

  “And, what am I supposed to do with it then? Am I supposed to sell it and leave?”

  “Do what you must.” He shrugged his shoulders. “If yeh need a buyer, I’ll buy it myself.”

  So, that was his ploy.

  Coerce me into blindly selling him something of value. The weak-minded fool from the bar, he figured he could now swindle. Fury burned through my skin.

  “While I appreciate your warning, Mr. O’Neill, I’m afraid I will have to decline your generous offer.”

  “Miss Colton—”

  “Good day, Mr. O’Neill.”

  “Miss Colton, wait.”

  Glancing over my shoulder, my eyes narrowed. “Don’t ever speak to me again. In fact, don’t ever come near me again.”

  Chapter 8

  The hull of the boat sliced through the ocean waves—the clearest and the deepest blue my eyes had ever seen. It was September, and the Alaskan sea air chilled through to the bone.

  Of course, the sea mist and steady fine rain over the last few days did little to help warm my body or my spirits. Neither did the packed vessel full of men, women, and children, who inhabited every inch of the boat’s deck. Whoever believed the body heat of one could warm another certainly had never traveled by boat on the open sea.

  Breathtaking sights certainly eased the trip. Deep green forests lined the gray rock along the shoreline as the mountain cliffs were battered by the crashing blue sea waves.

  Bald eagles perched high in the treetops, called to one another in raptor screeches.

  At times, they soared through the sky with broad wingspans, searching with their perfect vision for food amongst the shore and open water. A lucky few found meals by grabbing scraps of prey the black and white orca would leave behind in their hunting wake.

  One orca pod in particular followed the boat for miles, blowing mist high into the air each time they breached to take a breath. Their long black dorsal fins poked out of the water and then disappeared, gliding in circles around the boat as if they wanted to know what was swimming in the water with them. Majestic and graceful for their size, they moved their large bodies through the water better than any human could move on dry land.

  The sky, light blue at first, turned orange as the sun rose slowly into the air—another morning on the overcrowded, far from luxurious ship, SS Willamette.

  “Miss Colton, may I please have a word with yeh?” Flynn’s hands were clasped behind his back, his shoulders hunched. Having avoided each other most of the trip, his approach caught me by surprise.

  “My claim is not for sale, so I suggest you quit your attempts to gain my attention and my trust.”

  “Hey, listen, I only mean—”

  “Good day to you.” As I stomped away from him, tears misted my eyes. Was I really pathetic enough to attract the attention of a con artist? Weak and devoid of the backbone obviously needed, he saw me as a target.

  Those who witnessed our exchange glanced from me to him—just another incident to elicit gossip. Entertainment certainly never lacked each day at sea, and now I was no different.

  It wasn’t uncommon to see the same drunken group of men boasting about the millions they would pluck from either the river water or stone of the Canadian mountains.

  Following their reenactments of panning for gold, they boasted of their intended purchases, which mostly included mansions and belongings for their families.

  Occasionally, an unattached man in a drunken, lonely haze would swear he’d never leave a saloon or dance hall and that finding comfort in endless bottles of whiskey and in the arms of a whore for the rest of his days would bring contented bliss. I stayed clear of those men, giving them wide berths and never making eye contact.

  “Ah, Miss Cora,” gushed Mrs. Pierce, a war widow who had remarried and traveled with her new husband. “We found another one for you.”

  I grasped the old newspaper from her hands. “Thank you.”

  “I don’t know why you want them,” Mr. Pierce laughed. “They aren’t even current.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “The stories keep me occupied . . . and they remind me of home.”

  They both chuckled as I sauntered to the railing and opened the front page of the Seattle Daily Times. Stories about the two million dollars worth of gold already taken out of the Klondike, in less than five months, flooded page after page, leaving little room for any other news than the gold rush.

  Flipping through the pages, my eyes focused on a black and white picture in the bottom corner. Christopher and his father stared back at me, poised in their best suits. Reading the headline, it was just another bank merger—another million for him to inherit. I folded the paper and tucked it under my arm.

  Surely, every woman in Seattle will now be on the hunt for such an eligible bachelor. I closed my eyes, inhaling the crisp sea air. Of course, what did it matter? Any woman could have Christopher for all I cared.

  I would prove him wrong about me. I would prove Flynn wrong, too. I would prove them all wrong.

  “I heard some men talking and they say we’ll see Skagway soon,” announced Mr. Pierce several feet from me.

  Mrs. Pierce jumped up and down. “Lord, I hope so,” she whined as she brushed the hemline of her skirt. “I can’t survive much longer on this wretched ship.”

  My eyes drifted across the water.

  I couldn’t agree more.

  The boat rocked along the water, up and down, up and down, weaving between mountainous rocks as we sailed closer to the shore. Waves crashed against the stone with thunderous booms that pounded deep in my chest.

  Hours ticked by, passing in seconds, and yet, passing as slow as molasses poured from the bottle. I kept my eyes focused on the skyline, catching my breath when I caught sight of smoke billowing through the air above the forest in the distance.

  As the boat rounded a peninsula covered in rocks and trees, the town of Skagway, lined with white canvas tents, finally came into view.

  Emotions rose with the notion of arrival, and people scurried about fetching their belongings and pushing their way toward the railing in order to get a glimpse of land.

  “I can’t wait to touch land again,” squealed another woman as she wedged in beside me and clapped her hands. Her husband stood behind her, rubbing her arms from her shoulders to her wrists. With a light bounce in his knees, he laughed with her.

  Smiles replaced sulking expressions, the anticipation intoxicated every man, woman, and child. Dreams were on the verge of becoming reality for nearly everyone onboard.

  The captain and a few crewmembers strode
along the deck through the crowd, stopping every few feet to instruct the passengers of their responsibilities, and as the captain approached me, he tipped his hat before he spoke.

  “We are unable to make port, so when the tide is low, the men will wear rubber boots and carry the women and children across to the waiting wagons. The wagons will carry you and your bags to shore.”

  Was he barmy? I would not be carried anywhere by a stranger.

  As the captain continued on his way through the swarm of people on deck, a thin, balding young man leaped to my side. Obviously, I had been his target from the moment he overheard the captain’s words.

  He wasn’t the filthiest man onboard. He seemed more like a businessman or banker on the quest for gold instead of working an ordinary city job.

  “Can I carry ya to shore, Miss?” His squeaky voice mirrored his twig-like arms and thin waist. His smile was as crooked as his teeth, but behind the dirt and grime on his face, he gave the impression he was at least a decent man.

  “Thank you for the kind offer, but I think I’ll try to wade across myself.”

  “But, the captain said—”

  “I know what the captain said, but I’m going to wade across myself.” I smiled, hoping to mask any rudeness.

  He shrugged his shoulders, looking a little disappointed and adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses sitting askew on his nose. He stood next to me, glancing at me every few seconds as I tried to ignore him and the imminent dreaded casual conversation.

  “Ya’ll stayin’ in Skagway?” His thick southern accent mirrored that of Mother’s housemaid, Gretchen, who was born in one of those southern states, maybe Tennessee or Georgia. I never could get them straight. He ran his hand through his shaggy, strawberry blond hair, which was in desperate need of a trim.

  “Yes, until I gather all my supplies to head to Dawson.”

  “My brother’s been there before, Dawson City, I mean, several times. He was pack guide and helped people with their pack units going up and down the trail. He got a business, now though, in Skagway, sellin’ horses to stampeeders. We was thinkin’ of sellin’ off the stock and headin’ to Dawson to get ourselves a claim.”

  I nodded, hesitant to say anything.

  “I bet I could get ya a deal on a few horses,” he continued.

  Drat. Now I have to respond to be polite.

  “That would certainly be helpful. Thank you.”

  “No problem. Name’s Rhett Garrison, by the way, I’m from down in the bayou of Louisiana.”

  “Cora Colton, from Seattle.”

  “Never been to Seattle and I only saw the train station and boat dock of Tacoma. Seemed like a nice place. Don’t know if I care for all the rain, though, and no money there to be made, either. Jus’ like Louisiana. So what’cha gonna to do in Dawson? Ya gonna pan for gold?”

  “I suppose I am . . . I guess . . . I mean, we shall see,” I laughed. “Well not we, I mean I shall see, I guess.”

  The boat glided through the waves, closer and closer to the beach. In the distance, horse drawn wagons waited along the banks. Knee deep in water, the horses swished their tails and tossed their heads, set for the command to proceed with their jobs of hauling passengers to shore.

  Crewmen cut through the crowd lining up as close to the railing as they could, trying to be the first off the floating hell we’d endured for the last week.

  The first glimpse of Skagway wasn’t quite as impressive as I’d expected. Hundreds of white canvas tents littered the beach—stretching outward toward the trees that covered the surrounding mountains.

  The smoke, seen moments ago from the open sea, now billowed from several locations, filling the air with a haze that settled above the little town.

  One of the workers grabbed Rhett by the shoulder and shoved a pair of rubber boots in his chest. “You hauling her?” he asked, pointing at me.

  “Sure am, Sir.”

  I glared at Rhett as the man grabbed my bag from me and marched off. He laughed and shook his head. “Ya want me to tell him no so he can have someone else do it?”

  Drat. He had a point.

  “No.”

  The crewmen continued to work through the maze of people as they passed out boots and shouted instructions. With a loud clank and splash the anchor plunged into the sea, dragging along the bottom until it lodged and the boat jerked to a halt.

  I caught sight of Flynn heading straight toward me.

  “Come on Rhett,” I ordered, grabbing Rhett’s arm and tugging him to follow me.

  The sooner I disembarked this boat, the better.

  Gazing down at the ramp, watching the water slap against the planks, my heart raced. After all I’d been through to get to Alaska, the reality of finally reaching dry land hit me. My stomach fluttered, then clenched like I’d been punched.

  “Well come on, ‘fore anyone notices I ain’t carrying ya,” Rhett encouraged.

  With no railing, I steadied my balance on the boards. My heeled boots clicked against the wood as I stepped closer and closer to the water. In one final leap of courage, I stepped down into the seawater.

  A thousand needles prickled all over my legs as my lungs gasped for breath. My body trembled from the bitter cold. My boots sank into the deep, thick mud, which seemed determined to yank my boots off and keep them as a token.

  The laces stretched, binding and tightening against my feet, pinching my skin underneath my now soaked tights. With the seawater nearly up to my waist, my dress soaked up gallons, weighing me down as I trudged through the waves.

  “Ya sure ya don’t need help?” Rhett called out, following close behind me. How he could even think he could help me was beyond comprehension, he was struggling more than I was.

  “I’m all right, Rhett,” I said through gasped breaths, fighting the weight of the water. My legs begged for relief, and my muscles burned from the strain, but I sped up my pace.

  “Don’t’cha want to get to a wagon?”

  With just a few yards left to the beach, climbing into a wagon with a heavy, soaked dress seemed rather foolish. Surely, I could easily reach the beach without assistance, and if I couldn’t, I didn’t have any business on this crazed adventure.

  A loud splash echoed behind me as I stepped onto the wet sand. The bottom of one of the horse crates had broken off and the horse plunged into the cold water. Terrified, it kicked and thrashed until scrambling to its feet and it galloped out of the ocean and up the sandy beach. A few men raced after it, shouting curse words.

  One by one, more crates hoisted in the air, and a few other horses plummeted to the water just as the first—the sound more than just a simple splash.

  Boulders lined the sandy beach, some as tall as me, and all covered in seaweed. Shells of different sea creatures, in pastels of white and yellow, stuck to the rocks near the waterline.

  The horse drawn wagons lurched out of the water several yards from where I’d struggled to shore and began unloading the passengers. Women hoisted their skirts high above their knees, tip toeing as if they would perish should their dresses get wet or dirty with sand.

  I gazed down upon my ruined dress and frowned. Perhaps, the choice not to take a ride in either the arms of a man or one of the wagons had been foolish.

  Ringing out the water did little to mend the damage. Weighted down with harsh salt water, the skirt hung a few inches longer and dragged in the sand.

  “Guess ya’ll didn’t need my help, after all,” Rhett panted, stumbling out the water. His lungs heaved as he clutched his chest. He collapsed onto the beach, gasping as he laid flat and rolled on his side then coughed into the wet sand.

  “I need to find my bag,” I muttered, stepping around him and leaving him where he lay. The faster I escaped his company before he mistook us for friends, or worse, companions, t
he better. “Good-bye, Rhett. Maybe I’ll see you around town.”

  He shouted after me, but with the distance between us, the pounding surf drowned out his words.

  A few of the women gave me odd glances as I approached and searched for my bag amongst the pile beginning to collect on the beach. By their expressions, they apparently thought I’d been foolish not to take the help as well.

  I found my bag near the bottom of the pile, hoisted it over my shoulder, and followed the tiny, winding trail off the beach. Struggling through the deep sand, my shoes were soon unrecognizable. The laces were so swollen and caked, I didn’t know if I would be able to untie them.

  I followed the other passengers along the path past the steamboat office—a large canvas tent packed with people asking numerous questions.

  Sweat dripped from the worker’s nose and forehead as he strained to keep up with the many voices vying for his attention. Wants and needs blended as each one inquired about their loved ones, asked for a particular supply store, a hotel, or a place to eat a much needed hot meal.

  I walked through the throng of confusion, leaving it behind.

  The trail changed from sand into a thicker type of clay. It was easier to walk on, although still wet from the recent rains, evidenced by dark clouds and thunder booming its good bye in the distance.

  “No one would ever doubt yeh are John Colton’s daughter.” Even through his heavy breaths, Flynn’s accent rolled across his tongue.

  Halting in my tracks, I slowly spun on my heel and groaned.