At the Rainbow's End

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “Just as I understand that she must dance with other men in her line of work. That doesn’t mean she loves me less, or that I would think of another woman as I do of her.” He stepped past her to pick up the basket. When she thanked him, he nodded. “Something about you reminds me of a lost kitten, Samantha. I just want to watch over you until you get to where you belong.”

  Samantha laughed. “I don’t know how many would agree with that estimation of me. Some have suffered my claws.”

  “Dinner, then?”

  “Yes, and please introduce me to your Rhonda?”

  He grinned with obvious pride in the woman he loved. “It would be my honor. I know she’d like to meet you, after hearing all the tales circulating Dawson. Tonight at seven?”

  “Yes.” She bade him farewell, curious about Rhonda. How did a love grow without jealousy strangling the joy from it? Joel would never have agreed to her working in a dance hall while she professed to love him. Perhaps, she mused, that was what love was—the security of knowing that nothing could lessen the strength and purity of that love.

  She sighed. She was going out tonight. She must get her chores done now.

  “Sing another, Penny!”

  “Again!”

  “Come on!”

  Shouts brought a wide smile to the face of a woman dressed in a befeathered gown the color of the gold the crowd believed waited in the hills surrounding the city. She stood on the bare boards of a brightly lit stage. Behind her, seams remaining in a tattered curtain showed its beginnings as several women’s velvet gowns.

  She signaled to the man who played the out of tune piano, and they launched into another bawdy song. The men crowded into the room burst into resounding cheers. They had recognized one of their favorites. Her reedy voice sounded angelic to their ears.

  The raucous noise continued. Garish electric lanterns cast shadows on gaudy wall colorings designed to lighten the spirits and pockets of lonely men. These men, far from the alluring sweetness of women for so long, did not care if the women they held had comforted many others before them. They did not worry about the cost of the dance. Dollars, they had. Women were the precious commodity. All they were interested in was having a bit of company and fun.

  Palmer French held the door for Samantha. After a quiet meal at one of the hotels, he was bringing her to the dance hall where Rhonda worked. The women were anxious to meet each other. He looked forward to a pleasant evening with the two.

  The dark Arctic night had fallen with its usual vengeance, and Samantha blinked in the bright lights as they entered. Inside the dance hall there was no interest in the cold or the growing scarcity of gold. Here, only festivity mattered.

  Her facial muscles felt tired with the effort of maintaining a false smile. She had been extraordinarily quiet during dinner. It had been easier to smile and let Palmer direct the conversation. She was grateful he had kept it away from prospecting, and Fifteen Above.

  “Is this all right?” he asked, choosing a wobbly table far from the door, so they would not be blasted by the cold each time someone came in or out.

  “This is lovely. We can hear the music and watch the dancers.” She smoothed the folds of her dress and she sat.

  The dance hall girls were doing a steady business in the middle of the room. With the winter holding so many of the miners captive in Dawson, the women had more customers than they wanted.

  “Something to drink?”

  “Wine would be nice, Palmer.” She had not forced herself to say much, other than answers to his questions. Remembering her vow to forget Joel and his hateful version of love, she added, “Which one is Rhonda?”

  Palmer grinned as he pointed to a woman half way across the room. Her emerald gown accented her startling red hair. When she saw him, she waved over the shoulder of the prospector whirling her through the crowd of dancers. Even at this distance, her sparkling smile of love could be seen.

  Looking up to where her escort still stood, Samantha noticed the matching expression on his face. She had wanted this kind of love for her and Joel. That it was impossible deepened her anguish.

  When Palmer excused himself to get their drinks, she folded her arms on the table and listened to the merry crowd. She wished she could be this carefree. She could not remember when she had not been caught up in the problems of those around her. After all her struggles, after thinking she had found what she wanted, she had failed.

  “Samantha!”

  Arms reached out of the crowd to encircle her shoulders. She fought to breathe in the tight embrace, aware of a cheap scent, too liberally applied. When she could move back enough to see who held her, her eyes widened.

  “Gwen, what are you doing here? Where’s Mr. Mun—?” She did not finish the question. Gwen’s spangled gown told Samantha that she had done as she threatened.

  As if to confirm her thoughts, Gwen said, “Mr. Munroe lied to me about many things. I guess I forgot to tell him a few things, as well.”

  “Such as what you did for a living before you came to the Klondike?”

  “Well, he didn’t tell me he was a zealot and a hypocrite.” Her round face lengthened with sorrow. “He couldn’t accept what I had done in the past, and used it to hurt me whenever he could. Some of the things he wanted me to do …” She shivered. “None of the men I knew in Colorado would have asked such. So I left him. I’m happier here, dancing with the men and pushing drinks for a comfortable profit.”

  “I’m glad, Gwen.”

  “Me, too.” Her full cheeks gained two, deep dimples as she added, “So, it may take a little longer to become the toast of Chicago. With what the fellows pay me here, though, simply to dance with them, I may have wealth sooner than I had thought. What are you doing here? Where’s your husband? I have been hoping to meet him, after all the tales I heard. I was planning to come out to see you in the spring. I thought you might not be in any condition to travel by then, for I expected you and Mr. Houseman would be well into starting a family by now. You seem like the family type.”

  “You weren’t the only one lied to.” It did not take her long to tell her story of being engaged to one man too many. She let her friend think it was that falsehood which brought her back to Dawson. So much anguish existed in her heart. She could not bare it yet.

  “Two men?” Gwen chuckled with her infectious laugh. “I had heard that story, but couldn’t believe you were involved in that. Of all the people in this wide world, you were the least likely to settle down with two men. Good thing they didn’t send for me. I might have been tempted to stay with both of them. Variety can be charming, Samantha.” She looked past her blushing friend to the man approaching the table. “Well, hello, Constable. Here to keep an eye on us sinners?”

  He put his hand on the back of Samantha’s chair. Placing the glass of white wine in front of her, he did not miss the instant understanding in the older woman’s eyes. He had spoken to Gwen Goddard several times when he came’ into the dance hall attached to the Aurora. She seemed to be a good woman, always giving the prospectors warmth in exchange for their money.

  “Not tonight. Despite the uniform, I’m here in an unofficial capacity. We are here to enjoy the entertainment. If you would like to join us …”

  Shaking her head, Gwen said, “Sorry. Tonight I’m here in an official capacity.” She grinned at her friend. “Where are you staying, honey?”

  “Mrs. Kellogg’s.”

  “The laundry?”

  “Yes, I’m helping her in exchange for my room and meals.”

  Gwen gasped, “Didn’t those two fools offer you anything after you—” she stopped, remembering she could not judge Samantha Perry by her own standards. Perhaps the young woman had done nothing the men would want to recompense her for. Hastily she continued, “I’ll stop by someday, and see you. All right?”

  “That’d be nice.”

  After Gwen whirled away to relieve some miners of their gold, the table became an island of silence amid a sea of sound. Sama
ntha twirled her glass while she thought of the strange sad ending to their hopes of finding true love in the north.

  Palmer put his wide hand over hers. “Forget both of them, Samantha.”

  “It isn’t that easy,” she answered, but a hint of a smile tipped her tight lips.

  “It will be, when you get away from Dawson. Just remember, no one in the States knows what happened here. Go to Seattle or San Francisco, and start over again. You aren’t afraid of hard work. Something will come your way.”

  She put her hand on top of his. “Is that a guarantee?”

  “I wish it was.” He met her smile, adding, “If anyone deserves it, you do. I—” When he paused to look past her, his tender smile told Samantha who stood behind her. He rose, still holding her hand, and brought her to her feet.

  Rhonda’s bright dress did not detract from her gentle looks. No one would have called her beautiful, for her face was too full and her nose too long. When she smiled, though, those imperfections were forgotten. After her gaze caressed the constable, she included the dark-haired woman in their happiness.

  “You must be Samantha Perry.” Her voice flowed over them, lush and warm. “Palmer has told me so much about you, and I couldn’t wait to meet you. You’re as pretty as he said.”

  “Can you join us?” asked Palmer before Samantha could answer.

  “Of course. Will you bring me a glass of wine?”

  He bent and kissed her heavily rouged cheek. Winking at them, he pushed his way through the crowd toward the bar.

  Samantha started to speak, but was interrupted by a miner asking Rhonda to dance.

  “I’m taking a break. Tell the boys I’ll be back in a few minutes, won’t you, Shep?” She smiled wearily as he hurried away. “I swear, they want to dance the feet off a girl.”

  “Do you like this work?”

  “It’s better than entertaining men in the cribs in Lousetown, or being stuck on some two bit farm in Missouri. Those were my options. Palmer has told me you haven’t found the Klondike to your liking, and are heading south, soon as the Yukon does us all a favor and thaws.”

  It was easy to share with Rhonda most of what had happened on Fifteen Above, all but the fact that she had given herself in love to Joel. She merely said she had loved him foolishly. When Palmer rejoined them, she did not change the subject. As he had said, she needed friends, and she had found two who did not judge her harshly for following her errant heart.

  Smiling, a bit wistful, she watched the police officer and the dance hall girl. They did not need to touch for their love to flow between them. A simple glance, a phrase that meant more than mere words, a shared joke all showed their devotion.

  Once, she had that love with Joel. Now she must mourn its demise and go on with her life. Soon the river ice would break, freeing them from captivity in Dawson, and she could bid a sad adieu to this place.

  She smiled, eyes down. Tomorrow she would go to the shipping line’s office on the riverfront and make arrangements for her escape. She would arrange to accept First Mate Penn’s offer of free passage on the Merwyn. She would find a way to avoid his advances on the trip, and repay him someday. She only hoped that when she left the Yukon, her heartache would remain among the gold fields.

  The sun was heading for the horizon when Samantha entered the warehouse which housed the shipping office. She had been busy at the laundry most of the day. As she stirred the pots of hot water and dirty clothes, she had thought of this moment, when she could start the process of her journey south.

  In a small room sectioned off from the main storage area, a potbellied stove stood in the middle of the floor. Little of its glowing heat reached as far as the door. To one side was a counter with scales for measuring gold, similar to those owned by many—from whores in Lousetown to merchants on Front Street.

  When no one answered the bell which tinkled over the door as she closed it, Samantha moved to the counter to wait. Noticing some steamships schedules, she leaned forward to read them.

  “Now there’s a charming sight.”

  Whirling, she faced a thin man. From his mouth hung an odorous cigar. Dark smoke and a remarkable amount of ash came from the end of it. Scratching the few hairs left on his head, he walked past her and stepped behind the counter.

  He grinned broadly. “What can I be doing for you, darling?”

  “I want to leave Dawson.”

  “Don’t we all? This is the worst excuse for a pesthole I have ever seen.” His high effeminate voice did not match the eagerness with which he continued to stare at her.

  Dampening her lips, unsure how to begin, she said, “My name is Samantha Perry, and I arrived on the Merwyn last summer. The first mate, Mister Penn, told me to come here and ask for a ticket any time I wanted to leave the Yukon. He said he would arrange to pay for it.”

  “Did he, now?” He leaned his elbows on the filthy countertop. Resting his chin on them, he smiled lackadaisically. “That’s a lovely story, Miss Perry, but what do you expect me to do?”

  “Why … arrange for my passage.”

  He laughed. “Honey, you should be on stage at the Monte Carlo. You tell funnier stories than the comedian over there. His jokes are staler than last week’s biscuits.” His expression sobered as he added, “Look, Miss Perry, the first ship won’t be here for more than a month, at the earliest. I have it booked four times over with paying customers.”

  “Mister Penn told me he would pay—”

  “But I don’t know that, now. If you want to send a wire to St. Michael, I can arrange that. All I need is four dollars to send it.”

  “Four dollars?” she gasped. She stared at him in disbelief. Such an amount of money would take every bit of the small amount she had brought to Dawson. Ruefully she thought of what remained in the tin can under her bed at the Fifteen Above—hundreds of dollars of gold dust which should be hers.

  “If you have no money, I can’t help you.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, honey, but that’s the way it is. Company policy, you know.”

  Determined she would get something out of this long walk, she asked, “Can you at least tell me when the Merwyn is returning to Dawson?”

  He pointed out the door. “Look at the river. Except for a few leads, that river is a solid block of ice. Until it melts, no captain will risk his ship coming up here. It ain’t like it was last year, when people were starving. They know we can wait.” When he saw her bleak expression, he relented. “Miss Perry, watch the Yukon. When the ice floes start downstream, come back. I should be able to tell you more then.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “Sorry it’s not more, honey.”

  She smiled, the sadness on her face muting the glow of her eyes. “I am, too. But I’ll be back.”

  “I thought you would. See you soon, Miss Perry,” he called after her as she went out the door.

  His words of encouragement followed her as she left the warehouse and walked to the Alaska Commercial Company. She waited patiently for one of the harried clerks at the store to be free, staring at the array of merchandise. She sighed. Everything was so expensive.

  Even the letter she wanted to send home would cost her dearly. What could she say to her brother? “I was a fool? I believed soap bubble promises, rainbow bright in the sunlight but popping as soon as I tried to capture them. I am coming home to be a burden on you again, because now no decent man will have me?” She could not write any of those things.

  Suddenly she knew how her new friend Palmer was correct. She should go to a Pacific coast city and find a life for herself. She had changed too much to accept the strictures of the staid life along the Ohio.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when a man asked her what she wanted. She said quietly, “Two spools of white thread for Mrs. Kellogg. She asked that you put it on her bill.”

  “Yes, Miss Perry. Be right with you.”

  Samantha smiled. It seemed as if everyone in Dawson knew her, although she could recognize only a f
ew of the faces. Suddenly she remembered Joel telling her that she was unforgettable and her smile dimmed. She berated her heart, which longed for foolishness she wanted to forget.

  One thing she would never forget—the harsh lesson she had learned from Joel Gilchrist. Other men might come into her life, kind, giving, and sacrificing, but would she ever be able to love any of them freely and openly, sharing her heart and body without fear? How could she forgive Joel for taking the magnificent gift of her love and twisting it into a tool for his hate?

  If only …

  She berated herself silently. There was no “if only.” Coldly manipulating her emotions, he had abused her trust in the most vicious way he could.

  Hurrying home through the early darkness, she had to concentrate on keeping her footing. The roads grew more treacherous with each day of hesitant spring. Opening the door of the laundry, she smelled the welcome aroma of their supper, delivered from the Fairview Hotel.

  “How did your errands go?” asked her employer.

  Samantha pulled off her coat and sat at the table where they folded laundry. “They couldn’t help me at the line’s office. They have no idea of what schedule the Merwyn will have. I’ll have to wait until the ice breaks up before I can arrange to leave.”

  “So where’ll you go, Samantha?” Mrs. Kellogg lifted a ladle of stew and placed it in her bowl.

  “I don’t know. Not Ohio.” She smiled wryly.

  Picking up her spoon, she pointed it at Samantha. “You must plan. What do you want? For so long, you have done only as others wanted.”

  “I do have some time to think. April isn’t over yet. With this late spring, I won’t be leaving before the end of May.” She took a bite of the stew. “Why can’t it be like it was last year, when the temperatures were unbelievably high?”

  “You are welcome to stay here with me.”

  She smiled and patted her friend’s hand, gnarled from years of washing clothes. “I was thinking I might go to Skagway. I’ve learned so much from you and my own laundry on the Bonanza, I might be able to do well there. With the news of more gold in Alaska, more fools will be careening north, all needing clean clothes.