Kaatje could not rouse herself to help. James seemed to understand, taking over her jobs of hauling buckets of water to the campfire, then gathering wood. All she could do was stare at the aquamarine river endlessly rushing against boulders in the center, striking them and cascading along the sides. How like the river was she? Endlessly pursuing Soren, striking up against insurmountable obstacles, then finding another way. Going on without him. Going on alone.
Well, she would go on alone if she had to. She had made it this far, hadn’t she? She had God and friends and a solid means of support.
She didn’t need Soren any longer.
Or did she?
They were on a Yukon River tributary, two hundred and forty miles downriver from the infamous Forty Mile—site of a huge gold strike two years earlier—when the trio came across the remains of an old cabin. It had once been perhaps ten feet wide by twelve feet long, but the roof had caved in. There was no sign of life around it; the woodpile was encrusted with lichens that spanned from log to log, and the forest floor showed no visible tracks. How long had he been gone from here? Kaatje wondered. If he had been there at all, she corrected herself.
Wordlessly James and Kadachan began stripping away the roofing material. The four side walls still stood, and now they could see that the roof had only partially collapsed. It struck Kaatje that Soren might have been inside when it fell. Would they find his corpse? His bones? The place had the air of death. Was it here that his life ended?
Within minutes the men had tossed the debris from the cabin.
There was no body.
James picked off a cedar branch from the only table inside and looked back at her. “It probably was a heavy snow that did it last winter. Most cabins can’t take more than a couple of winters. Come in, Mrs. Janssen. Have a look. There is nothing in here to hurt you.”
Kaatje wasn’t so sure. Hesitantly she stepped inside, looking from side to side as if she could feel Soren there. Was this place his? Had he truly been here?
Kadachan made a low guttural sound and picked up a picture. He blew off the dirt. Half of the daguerreotype was soiled beyond recognition, but there was enough.
Kaatje could see her own face, a portrait taken as a girl in Bergen just prior to marrying Soren. The only photo Soren ever had of her.
Her hand flew to her mouth, and she felt short of breath. It was Soren’s cabin. He had been there, slept there. And he had kept her photo with him the whole time. Until he left, that is.
“Mrs. Janssen?” James asked, walking quickly toward her. He took her elbow. “Are you feeling faint? You look as if the wind has been knocked out of you. Here, sit down.” He led her to the only bed, decomposing from the elements, and she gratefully sat down amongst the sticks and debris.
Soren had been there. There, right where she was.
A movement to her right caught her attention. Slowly, James lifted a worn buckskin dress from the other side of the bed. He glanced at her with sorrow in his eyes, and Kaatje knew at once what he thought. Soren had been there.
And so had an Indian woman.
She found her tongue. “Perhaps the woman lived here after Soren left.” She rose and walked to the doorway. “Or perhaps he traded something so he could give that dress to me.”
James nodded, but she could see he did not believe her words. She did not believe them herself. His look was kind and knowing, silently breaking the truth to her. He continued to poke around the cabin with Kadachan, but there were few other items left behind.
Soren had been with yet another woman. Kaatje raised her hand to her forehead, wondering if she was running a fever. She felt so woozy. Sick to her stomach. She rose and walked out into the woods, anxious for some privacy. There she was in the middle of the Yukon, looking for her philanderer of a husband. Defending him by making up excuses. James and Kadachan would think her such a fool!
Kaatje felt hysterical laughter build inside her. It really wasn’t a surprise. The milking girl in Bergen, Tora, her French neighbor, how many had there been? How many, Lord? And how long must I endure this humiliation? Old pain was awakened, as if shaken from a long dormancy. Why, Father? Why bring me so far to discover yet another dark sin of my husband’s? What good does this do? What good?
She began running, running as fast as she could through the woods. It was dark there by the cabin, since the trees were dense and the foliage formed a tight canopy hundreds of feet above. She wanted to get out of the darkness—it threatened to suffocate her.
Kaatje ran and ran, her skirts bunched in her hands, leaping over fallen logs, dodging low branches, until she could run no more.
Gasping for breath, her hands on her knees, she looked ahead. There was sunlight streaming through the trees there, and for the first time she felt as if she could breathe deeply. Kaatje wanted to cry but could find no tears within her. All she could feel was cold fury.
“Why?” she yelled at the sunlight as if at God himself. “Why?” she screamed again.
And at last the tears found her.
James motioned to Kadachan to silently back away. The woman had suffered yet another indignity; she deserved her privacy. With quiet hunter steps they left Kaatje, each taking a different flank hundreds of feet back. She could be alone, but she would be protected. When she began her trek back to the river, they would beat her there, waiting as if they had been there all the time.
Her sobs tore at James’s heart, and his breast filled with an anger he had never known. How could Soren have done such a thing? Left Kaatje and his girls and taken up with an Indian maid? Sure, he had seen it a hundred times. Most of the mountain men and miners took Indian brides, or at least tried to, whether or not they had a bride at home in the States. But he had never seen the wives who had been left. The women who had loved and lost their men. It gave the practice a whole new unsavory light. Before, it was none of his business. Now, it was all his business.
James walked farther away, wanting to be far from Kaatje’s gut-wrenching cries. It made him want to punch something, and hard. He clenched his fists and his teeth and bit back the cry of rage that built inside his shaking body. How could Soren do such a thing? To Kaatje?
He paced back and forth, waiting for Kaatje’s tears to abate.
He wanted to find Soren Janssen now.
He wanted to find him and give him a beating he would never forget.
Kaatje headed back to the river an hour later. James and Kadachan were by the boat as if they had never left. Kadachan whittled at a stick, and James idly threw rocks into the river, at a loss for words.
“Did you find any letters?” she asked carefully, not looking at either of them.
“No,” James answered. What had she hoped Soren would have received, there, in the middle of nowhere? She did not explain.
James dug his heel into the rounded rocks of the small river’s beach, choosing his words carefully. “Would you like to go on? Or head back to Juneau?”
“We go on, of course.”
“Mrs. Janssen.”
She looked up at him then, her eyes bloodshot from crying, making the hazel green eerily vibrant. He glanced down and then over at Kadachan, silent. Quietly, James asked his friend in Tlingit to make further inquiries of the local tribe. Soren Janssen had been there at one point and time; perhaps they knew where he had gone.
Kadachan turned and ran off into the forest as if he knew this land like it was his own.
“Where is he going?”
“To ask the local tribe if they know anything more of your husband.” “You think me a fool.”
“I do not understand your decision to go on.”
“It is not your place to understand my decisions, just to abide by them,” she ground out. “This is your job, Mr. Walker, and nothing more. You are being paid to lead me to my husband, dead or alive. What confuses you in this task? Why do you question me every mile?”
“I have not asked—”
“With your eyes. With your actions. You ask. Why
not simply adhere to our terms and keep on moving?” She was shaking with anger.
“I do not understand a love that drives a woman to such lengths,” he gently clarified.
She turned away and stared at the river for a long time. When she spoke, it was so softly that James could barely hear her over the water. “I wish him dead. Am I horrible?” Her eyes were intense, aching in their sorrow.
He considered his response. “No. I suppose I would feel the same if it were I. What if…what if we had found Mr. Janssen? Inside. Dead. What would you have felt then?”
“Released.” She turned and faced him, her expression one of sheer exhaustion. “I would have felt released.”
Kaatje watched James build a campfire. It was all she could do to sit upon a log and glance from the abandoned cabin to the fire to the river. James offered her food, and, as if in a dream, she dimly remembered declining it. Her stomach rumbled at the smell of sizzling trout, but she could not find it within herself to lift the food to her mouth.
Not wanting to speak anymore that night, she set out her bedroll and climbed under the wool blanket. James had spread fresh cedar boughs beneath her sleeping spot, and the sweet aroma filled her nostrils. He was sometimes difficult and surly about bringing her on the river, but he could also be thoughtful in small ways. Kaatje had to give him that. She closed her eyes and listened as Kadachan quietly arrived and spoke in low tones with James.
They talked back and forth for some time in Tlingit. At first Kaatje was irked that she was cut out of the conversation, but then she realized she was too exhausted to ask them to speak in English anyway. After all, Kadachan’s English was rudimentary at best. He could understand them very well, but when it came to speaking, it was difficult to understand him. Through slitted eyes she watched Kadachan eat fried trout with his hands as he spoke, gesturing to the north over James’s shoulder.
She raised up on one elbow to ask the one question to which she needed an answer before sleeping. “Is he alive?”
“We don’t know,” James said gently.
Kaatje nodded, discouraged, then seconds later fell fast asleep.
The next morning, before breaking camp, Kaatje explored the immediate vicinity. A hundred feet upriver, she discovered the traces. Soren had obviously labored here for many months, making his way into a cliff side after cutting through the rock on top. She heard James’s whistle, his signal to rally, when a glint in the water caught her eye.
She leaned over and yet couldn’t reach it, so she sat down to take off her boots and stockings. A minute later, she lifted her split skirt and waded a few feet into the frigid water, wincing as tender flesh met sharp rocks. Quickly, she dipped down and grabbed a golden rock that was as deep down as her shoulder. She rose and watched it as the water dripped away and the sun warmed it in her hand.
“It’s probably fool’s gold,” came a voice behind her.
Startled, Kaatje whirled, stumbled, and almost fell, but James was already rushing in to help. She ended up against his chest, and she was surprised by the breadth of him, the hard muscles under her cheek. He held her as if she weighed nothing. “Are you all right?”
Quickly, she stepped away and up onto the rocky beach, then looked at the rock in her hand again, trying to push away the embarrassment of her stumble. “Yes,” she said, feeling her cheeks burn. After the fishing-hole experience, James was liable to decide she couldn’t stay on her own two feet. “Fool’s gold, huh?”
James raised his eyebrows and nodded once. “Most likely. We can have it tested when we get back in town. If it’s true gold, you’ll have food on the table all winter.”
“From just this?”
“Yes.”
“But it’s probably fool’s gold.”
“You never can tell. These mountains and streambeds are rich with gold waiting to be discovered. Your husband knew it. That’s obviously why he was here.”
“Do you think he found some gold? Maybe he found a solid streak and was taking a load to town. Perhaps he was intending to sell it and send for us. Do you think he might have been attacked, James?” Her heart leaped with sudden hope, a sudden prospect of a plausible and respectable answer to the whole sordid mess.
But his expression dashed it.
“What?”
“Kadachan and I explored his traces and the crevasse he was mining. There might have been gold once. But we didn’t see any evidence of it.”
“Could he not have mined it all out? I mean to say, it wouldn’t be prudent to leave an open gold mine here alone, available for anyone to take, right?”
James pinched his lips together and looked to the river. “Mrs. Janssen, if I were a betting man, I would say he didn’t find more than a nugget.”
“Why?”
“Because everything I know about your husband tells me that he would have found some way to make it to town and brag about his success. Someone would have known about him. News like that spreads faster than wildfire. If he had been taken by Indians or claim-jumpers, he could have bought his way out of it, had he struck it rich. And once he bought his way out, he would have lived large, like he always wanted to, right? That kind of man is hard to miss.”
Kaatje thought over his words for a moment. “Kadachan found out more about him, didn’t he?”
He stared hard at her for a moment. “Yes. He took a local Indian maiden as his bride.”
Kaatje swallowed hard. “And she is where?”
“We don’t know. They both disappeared about two years back.”
“Where?”
“The tribal chief said they were heading upriver. And they left just in time.”
It was her turn to give him a sharp look. “Why?” “Because the tribe was out to kill him.”
“Pardon me?”
“Mrs. Janssen, they were coming to kill him because while he had been betrothed to the chief’s daughter, he had also gotten her sister pregnant. It was the sister he took with him.”
four
Christina and Jessica were already a big help in the roadhouse kitchen, Tora proudly appraised. They were both at the marble pastry counter, earnestly kneading bread, as Tora hurriedly dropped off dishes for Charlie to wash and took more steaming plates out to the restaurant. Ordinarily, she merely managed and greeted customers, but her three waitresses were so busy they could not keep up. Even Trent had pitched in and was helping the cook serve up hot pot roast, carrots, and mashed potatoes.
She grinned as she exited the swinging kitchen doors, taking good food to hungry men. Juneau was a hopping, rowdy place, and Tora loved it. She loved the frontier feel of the town, the awe-inspiring beauty of the mountains and fjords that reminded her of home. She cherished the chance to build a part of Trent’s business alongside him again, and the sense of family that Kaatje, the girls, Charlie, and Trent gave her. This place, at last, was home.
The men flirted with her and left her generous tips, all of which went into a can that she saved for the children. She liked to spoil them with new clothes or treats. And although Charles was Trent’s to care for, Tora wanted to mother him a bit too. She doubted he had ever spent much time with women, at least women of good morals.
And Tora Anders finally had her own good morals, she acknowledged to herself. Finding faith in God had radically changed the way she lived and saw others. It no longer mattered what others thought of her—at least, most of the time; she still had to work at it—but she knew God always found delight in her. It gave her a foundation of freedom and self-assurance that she had never known. Being Trent’s bride-to-be was only icing on the cake. Her faith, her love with Trent, Kaatje, and the children had all added up to make her life just about perfect.
“May I have some more coffee, miss?” a heavily bearded man asked, holding up a white ceramic cup.
“Certainly.”
“Got any more cobbler, Miss Anders?” another asked, obviously vying for her attention.
“I’ll get that, Miss Anders,” Bess, one of her waitr
esses, interrupted.
“Ah, Bess, I wanted Miss Anders to bring it by,” the man grumbled good-naturedly.
“Yes, well, if you really want your cobbler, you’ll just have to take it from me,” the redhead sassed back. “Miss Anders is only helping us out since you boys all decided to take supper at the same time.”
“We’ll do anything to get your pretty manager out and among us!” shouted a young man from another table.
Trent came out wiping his hands on a dishcloth and perusing the room. The men grew quieter at the sight of him until one man yelled, “You’re taking that lout as your husband? Look at me!” He stood, and the men laughed as he pretended to primp. “Don’t you want a young man? Why, that old man probably won’t be able to carry you over the threshold!”
Tora covered her smile while Trent glared at them all. “I’ll show any man here that I’m twice the man he is! And I’m telling you, it will take twice the man to handle a bride like Miss Anders!”
The room erupted with laughter and shouts. Tora laughed with them.
“Who’ll give me a decent run for my money?” Trent went on. He unbuttoned his fine shirt sleeves and rolled them up past his elbows. “There’s a dollar here for any man who can beat me at arm wrestling!”
Several men rose immediately, eager to take the businessman’s dollar with their miner’s muscles. They jostled each other toward the table.
“Easy, boys, easy!” Trent called, Charlie suddenly at his side, eyes alight. “One at a time. I’ll take as many of your dollars as I can. I’m working on that Ketchikan roadhouse now, you know! I can use the extra cash.”
Tora had never seen such bravado in Trent, nor seen him so happy. But inwardly she groaned. Trent was tall and well built but lean, and he surely could never compete with the beefy muscles in the crowd. Still, she stood beside him, like a barmaid next to a seasoned card shark, watching what would transpire. Maybe it would be good for Trent to take a little beating on the arm-wrestling table. He was always so sure of himself…
Her mouth dropped open as Trent bent the first man’s wrist and took his arm down to the table. Charlie hit the table, hooting out his approval and putting out his hand to take the loser’s dollar. Abruptly Tora closed her mouth. It wasn’t seemly to be surprised that one’s intended could outmuscle another man, regardless of his enterprise. When he beat the following man, her surprise turned to pride, and she cast out her hands and raised her eyebrows in a silent, taunting dare to the remaining men in the crowd.
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