by Linda Ford
"He was the man who taught me everything I know about photography. He was a very special person."
Suddenly Chastity's desire to know more seemed insatiable. Who was this man? What had happened to him? What had he meant to Adam? And more. How had men survived such an ordeal? How many actually found gold? What about their families? But something in Adam's expression—a tightness around his eyes—made her wonder if he had painful memories he didn't wish to share, so she chose to keep her questions to herself.
The last of Adam's pictures had passed from hand to hand.
"Adam, those were truly wonderful," Mother said. "Thank you."
Emma sighed. "Now I'll know what people are talking about when they mention the Klondike gold rush and the Chilkoot Trail."
Mr. Elias nodded. "It's a wonderful documentary you have there, young fellow. I wish I had such a record of my own journeys."
"Yes, thank you, Adam," Chastity said, her mind still transfixed by what she had seen and heard. It was a magical experience, like being transported to another time, another place.
"I can bring more pictures and maybe some sketches sometime, if you like. And maybe of other places." He gave a low chuckle. "I have ten years' worth of stories and pictures."
"We'd like that," Mother said for them all. "How wonderful to have such a collection."
Mr. Elias cleared his throat. "If you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way." He rose and marched to the door, his measured steps thudding up the stairs and then descending again as he headed outdoors.
Emma, clearing away the tea things, watched him through the window and then leaned over and spoke close to Chastity's ear. "He's got a parcel with him again. What do you suppose he's up to?"
Chastity frowned at Emma. If Mother overheard them discussing Mr. Elias's personal life, they would both be in for a scolding.
"Our boarders are entitled to their privacy," she had said over and over. "As long as they don't do anything illegal. We would then, of course, be obligated to report them to the authorities."
That was Emma's loophole. "How do we know what anybody's doing? For instance, maybe Mr. Elias is—I don't know—maybe he's making counterfeit bills."
Chastity had laughed at her suggestion. "I suppose he sits up in his bedroom painstakingly drawing each bill."
"He could." Emma drew her brows together. "Or he could be making some other kind of forgery. He could be doing all sorts of things."
Chastity had shaken her head. "Or he could be borrowing books from a friend."
At that Emma had pulled away. "That's real exciting."
Now Emma mumbled, "Makes you think, doesn't it?"
Ignoring her, Chastity turned back to hear what her mother was saying to Adam. "You certainly have a fine collection of photos. I'm anxious to see more of them. And the sketches you keep mentioning."
Adam's gaze circled the room. "You have a fine collection yourself."
Mother followed the direction of his look as did Chastity, her heart dropping like a stone as he studied the angel figurine in the window, then the painting over the fireplace, then the framed drawing next to the hall of an angel looking as if he were listening for a call. Penned underneath were words Chastity knew by heart: But if these beings guard you, they do so because they have been summoned by your prayers.
Mother nodded with a bright smile. "I've collected angels since before Chastity was born. They serve as a constant reminder to me that 'the angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them.' "
Adam looked at the older woman. "I sense a story."
"I'll say it again—you are much too discerning for a young man." She settled back.
Chastity squeezed her hands together. She had heard the story many times throughout her life and was always uncomfortable when her mother told it. It made her feel like a spectacle. She edged forward in her chair, hoping she could slip out, but her mother lifted her hand.
"Stay, Chastity. You should hear this."
"I've heard it before, Mother," she said quietly.
"I know, but stay."
Her mother's gentle voice set Chastity back in her chair more effectively than a brisk order. She clutched her hands together and refused to look up.
"I married young," Mother began, "and not wisely. I thought my husband was everything I'd dreamed of—a caring, principled man who would take care of me." She took a deep breath. "Neither of us had much in the way of family, so it was easy for us to pull up stakes and move West."
Chastity steeled herself for the next installment.
"I don't know if moving West changed him or if it revealed him for who he really was. He grew angry, demanding, and cruel. When I knew I was pregnant, I hid it, fearing what he would do." Her gaze rested on Chastity.
Her mother always found this part of her story painful, and Chastity met her look, silently encouraging her and affirming her love.
"Your father's name was Simon LaBlanc."
Chastity gripped her hands together so tightly her knuckles hurt. Never before had her mother given the name of her father or even said if LaBlanc was his name or her mother's maiden name.
"I promised to leave the past behind me when I came here," she had insisted when Chastity questioned her.
"Simon LaBlanc," Chastity repeated, her voice thin. "What was he like?"
"He was charming and handsome. His mother was Swedish, his father French. It's from his mother's side you get your coloring."
Her throat too tight to speak, Chastity nodded.
"But he was a no-good scoundrel," her mother said with a sigh. "When he found out I was pregnant, he beat me." Her voice dropped to a whisper.
Adam cleared his throat. "You don't have to tell me. I didn't mean to pry into something personal."
Chastity had forgotten he was there and blinked back the emotion rising in her eyes, striving to compose her face.
Mother waved aside his comment, addressing Chastity directly. "I've wondered for a long time if I was right in keeping this from you. I decided a few days ago if someone were to ask me to tell them about the angels, I would take it as a sign to tell you." She turned to Adam. "It's a story most people around here have heard bits and pieces of. I'm not sure why, but having you here has given me the strength to tell Chastity about her father."
She continued. "He kicked me out and said he never wanted to see me again. He had hurt me so badly I was afraid I would lose my baby, who was, of course, Chastity." Her voice quivered. "I knew no one. I had no place to go. I had no money. All I wanted was to get away. Far, far away. So I started down the road. A couple picked me up and took me several miles. That night I slept by the edge of the road with nothing but my shawl to keep me warm. I headed out again as soon as it was light. I don't even know what direction I was going. I walked all day. Toward dark I was so weak I kept falling down." Never once did her gaze flicker from Chastity's face. "I hadn't eaten in two days, and I was bleeding."
She took a deep breath. "Finally I just couldn't get up. I thought I was going to die. I no longer thought I believed in God, but I remember thinking, 'God, if You don't help me, I'm finished.'" Her voice grew stronger. "That's when a buggy pulled up beside me. A young man came to me and lifted me into it. I seemed to float in his arms. He gave me some warm broth, washed my face and hands, and wrapped me in a warm quilt." She smiled. "I don't know if I slept or what, but we soon drove into town. The man stopped in front of a big house and took me to the door.
“‘You’ll be safe here,' he said as he rang the bell. 'God wants you to know He sees your trouble and will surely rescue you. He wants you to understand how much He loves you.'
"And then the door opened. A sweet-faced older lady welcomed me as if she had sent me an invitation. When I turned around to thank the kind gentleman, he was gone, and there was no buggy in the street."
Mother smiled. "He had vanished into thin air.
"That's how I came to this house. Mr. and Mrs. Brownlee owned it. They took me in and
cared for me until I regained my strength. I've lived here ever since."
The room was quiet.
"Mrs. Brownlee brought me my first angel," she added. "It's that little ivory one I keep by my bedside," she explained to Chastity. "She said it was to remind me that when all hope is gone, we have endless hope in God's provision."
She sat back.
No one spoke.
Chastity stole a look at Adam, wondering what he thought of the tale. Slowly he turned to face her, his eyes warm as a summer sky. "I always knew Chastity had a special quality about her, and now I understand what it is: Her life has been touched in a special way."
"She's my gift."
Chastity's cheeks grew warm, and she lowered her head to study her clenched hands. She knew the moment Adam shifted his gaze. She sucked in a deep breath to ease the tension crackling up her spine.
"That's a remarkable story, Miz LaBlanc. I don't know when I've heard a more powerful one." He tidied his bundle of photos and stood. "It's been a lovely afternoon, and I thank you for your hospitality."
"Anytime, Adam. Consider it a standing invitation."
Chastity stood as well. "Do you want help back to your bedroom?" she asked her mother.
"No, I'm quite comfortable here. If you'll bring me my Bible, I'll be fine."
"I'll do that. Then I think I'll go pick up some more of your pills." She turned to Adam. "Good-bye then. I enjoyed your stories of the Klondike."
"I'm glad."
Chastity slipped from the room to get her mother's Bible. Adam was still there when she returned. Her eyebrows seemed to go up of their own accord.
He chuckled at her surprise. "Since we're headed in the same direction, I thought we might as well walk together."
She nodded, too confused to speak. Her emotions had been on a whirlwind ride from awe at the spectacular challenges the Klondikers faced, to reluctant admiration of Adam's experiences, to mouth-dropping surprise at her mother's revealing the name of Chastity's father. She wasn't yet sure how she felt about it. She had never expected to be told and had long ago decided it didn't matter. Now that she had the information, she wasn't sure what she should do with it. She needed time to sort everything out.
Yet she wasn't reluctant for Adam's company. Something about him roused her curiosity. She had pegged him for an adventurer—bent on trying something new and exciting at every opportunity. But his stories of the Klondike had revealed something else—something she couldn't put her finger on.
"Are you ready?"
Chastity smoothed a hand over her hair. She was acting as impressionable as Emma. "I'm ready."
They reached the drugstore first, and Adam accompanied her inside and waited while Roy dispensed the pills Doc Johnson had ordered.
"Why don't you come and see what I'm doing at my shop?" Adam asked as they stepped back into the sunshine.
Curious, Chastity agreed.
Inside the room Adam had claimed for his shop, Chastity saw at once he had been hard at work. The mahogany wainscoting glistened with polish. The odor of calcimine stung her nostrils from the upper half of the walls with their soft green paint.
She stood in the middle of the floor and turned full circle. "I see you've been busy."
"I haven't done it alone. The whole family helped."
"I suppose they're hoping they can convince you to stay." She crossed her arms in front of her and squeezed tight.
His hands shoved into his pockets, Adam leaned against the door frame and gave a slow smile. "Chastity, you talk as if I've only paused here to catch my breath. Do you think I would go to all this work if I was only visiting?"
Chastity let her eyes circle the room. Stacks of framed pictures leaned against the wall. Crates waited to be unpacked or stored. "No, I suppose not." She brought her gaze back to Adam. "Do you mean to tell me you're planning to stay and put down roots, as they say?"
He smiled wider, light filling his eyes. "I have no immediate plans to go anywhere."
Chastity wondered about the quickening of the pulse in her neck. She could barely breathe and glanced around the room again, wondering if someone had lit a fire in the stove. But there was no stove. No fire. "Are you saying you plan to stay here?"
He nodded. "I need a home base for my business."
"So you might take off again someday?"
He didn't answer. He simply stared at her until she looked down, mumbling, "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."
He sighed. "You make it sound as if the only thing that matters to me is roaming new pastures."
She blinked. He had expressed her feelings very well. And yet it seemed the idea was contemptuous to him.
"That isn't it at all." He pushed away from the wall. "Let me show you some of my work." He knelt before a stack. "This is some of my early work." He handed her a drawing and waited.
It was a simple sketch of a man hunched on a pile of boards, looking as if he had lost all hope.
"This is very good. It reminds me of the sketches you made at school, but it's much more"—she searched for the right word—"it says something."
His eyes took on a light. He handed her more—portraits of vacant-eyed men, drawings of men bent over a sluice box, pictures of men leering at a palmful of gold.
She had thought the photos of the Klondike were moving, but these sketches caught the stark emotions of individuals. "They're very powerful."
He moved to another stack. "These are paintings I made down the coastline." He picked out one and handed it to her. It showed ribbons of fog and a shadowy shoreline.
She touched it, almost expecting to feel moisture, and laughed a little. "It's so real." She let the painting pull at her senses until she breathed the damp air and felt the calmness of the drifting fog. "I like this."
"I have hundreds more sketches and paintings." He rose to his feet. "But there's something I especially want to show you." He moved to the table at the back of the room and pulled a worn leather portfolio toward him, then he untied the strings that held it closed. Then he seemed to think better of it and walked toward her, pausing a few feet away.
She wondered why he had changed his mind and watched him, mystified at the serious expression on his face and the way his eyes probed hers, searching for what she did not know.
"I guess most people think it was like a hike in the mountains to go looking for gold." He paused, his eyes still looking deep into hers until she felt he was seeing right into her soul. "It wasn't. All those who went fought a tough trail and discovered truths about themselves." He turned to look out the window. "Some found ugly, weak things. Others developed a strength beyond their imagination." Again he faced her. Again his eyes blazed into hers. "Many finally reached Dawson more broken than whole—more worn out than alive."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "It was like nothing I could describe. Men lined the streets, vacant eyed, empty. Mere shells. They seemed to have survived the trip but forgotten what life was about."
Sensing he was talking about something that had a profound effect on his life, Chastity waited for him to continue.
He shifted and looked past her. "I guess I was one of those who having made the trip couldn't figure out what next. I wasn't interested in packing out to the gold camps. Gold wasn't the reason I had gone in the first place. Yet there seemed no place for me. I remember getting out my paper and pens and trying to draw, but I felt empty inside." He paced the room, as if he were experiencing again the emptiness he described.
"I remember walking along the river wanting to be by myself and figure out what I was going to do. I sat there for a long time, too weary and discouraged to move." He leaned against the wall, his look warm and knowing, as if he saw something in her she was unaware of. "I had taken my sketching materials with me."
Chastity shifted her gaze away, but there was something compelling about his story—and the look in his eyes—that drew her despite her resolve.
He took a deep breath and continued. "I finally opened my materia
ls and began leafing through them. I found a picture I had drawn long before I got there, while I was still in school. I looked at it for a long time while peace and purpose returned."
Chastity felt caught like a moth before the lamplight, but after a second or two she managed to ask, "What was the picture?"
He smiled then, a smile so warm it made her blink.
"That's what I want to show you." He returned to the table and, flipping open the portfolio, picked up a tattered piece of paper and held it toward her.
She stepped forward and took it, wondering what had so inspired him. She saw the picture and gasped. "It's me." It was identical to the drawing he had done for her all those years ago. "I don't understand."
"Look at it again. What do you see?"
She examined it. "It's the same drawing you did for me that time I let you escape from Esther James."
"I made one for myself at the same time."
"I don't understand," she repeated, bending over again to study the picture, wistful pleasure tugging at her thoughts. "You have no idea how many times I looked at that picture wishing I could look like that."
It was his turn to look surprised. "That's how you do look."
She squinted at him. "Not now. Not ever. When you drew this, my hair was so flyaway it clung to my face and blew around my head like static. You've given me an expression that makes me look—"
"Serene, calm. And that's what you are and always were. I remember when the kids teased you about not having a father or living in a boardinghouse or even about your hair. You never let it upset you."
Chastity laughed. "I told them I was special. My mother always told me I was and surrounded me with so much love that I firmly believed it. When the kids teased me, I went inside myself to a place where I felt special and loved. Most days their teasing didn't bother me. I guess I was a solitary kid, but I was pretty happy most of the time."
For a heartbeat neither spoke. Chastity tilted her head and studied Adam closely. "I still don't know why my picture would mean anything to you."
Shrugging, Adam looked past her. "I don't know if I can put it into words. Perhaps it was being reminded of your calmness." Embarrassed, he laughed a little. "All I can tell you is from that moment I knew I was going forward, and someday I'd come back home." He shoved his hand through his hair. "As you can see, I almost wore the picture out." He crossed to a stack of paintings. "I decided I better replace it before it was worn to shreds." He turned a painting around for her to see.
