Mystery at Chilkoot Pass (Mysteries through History)

by Barbara Steiner

  Tomorrow, they would start their trip up the trail toward Chilkoot Pass. Most of the people they’d arrived with on the steamer had already left. New boats arrived every day, bringing new people eager to head for the goldfields. Every night Hetty saw new faces at their restaurant.

  Jack London had left. Colin Brandauer was gone. But Andy Nickerson—Moosejaw—was still here, coming over every night. Hetty wondered if he was interested in more than Mrs. Vasquez’s good cooking.

  The Jacobsons were still camped nearby, too. Papa and William Jacobson had become best friends. Eddie said the reason they hadn’t left for the pass was that his mother had been ill and needed to rest. Eddie came to visit every day, often bringing Rosie, with her curly red hair and giggles. Hetty and Alma got to be friends with Eddie, and they loved playing with the sweet, laughing baby. They hardly ever saw Carl, and when they did, he was never friendly.

  Hetty stretched her sore muscles and stopped daydreaming. Realizing that it was late and she was probably the last one in bed, she rushed to dress, slip on her locket, and pull a shawl around her shoulders.

  She stepped outside the tent and took a deep breath. The morning was foggy and the air smelled of campfire smoke. A few snowflakes floated down. San Francisco had had a freak snowfall in ’96, but other than that, Hetty had never experienced snow. She was eager for their first real Alaskan snowfall.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Mrs. Vasquez said. She sat on a folded blanket near the campfire, patting lumps of dough into tortillas.

  Alma sat beside her mother, helping. “We decided since this is our last day, we’d let you out of some of the work. Wasn’t that kind of us?” Alma’s dark hair was perfectly braided, and her brown eyes sparkled. Hetty couldn’t see a spot of mud on her dress.

  Hetty hadn’t looked in a mirror, but she could see wisps of her own curly hair all around her face. She was trying to keep it braided so it would stay out of the way, but her hair had a mind of its own.

  “Thank you for all your hard work this week, Hetty,” Mrs. Vasquez said. “I’ll wash your dress today. Wear another that’s clean.”

  “I can wash it, Mrs. V,” Hetty offered, but she dreaded trying to wash clothes in a tub of water outside the tent.

  A sudden cold wind made her tug her shawl closer. It was time to find her winter coat and September was just ending. Someone had told her that the winters in Dawson could be fifty to seventy degrees below zero. She couldn’t imagine such frigid temperatures.

  “Where are Papa and Uncle Donall?” Hetty dished up a bowl of oatmeal, adding a splash of tinned milk and a spoonful of their precious sugar.

  “They went to gather firewood,” Mrs. V said. “But let me guess. Your papa has gotten distracted talking to people, looking for good stories. And Donall discovered a card game or a lady to flirt with.”

  Hetty didn’t disagree. Mrs. Vasquez knew both men well. Why had Hetty bothered to ask where they were?

  As Hetty finished breakfast, Uncle Donall put in an appearance. But he wasn’t alone. On his arm was a very pretty woman wearing a big picture hat covered with pink tulle roses and artificial violets.

  “Maria Vasquez, Alma, and Hetty, I want you to meet my new friend. This is Sarah Lancaster. She’s also from San Francisco—not that working folks like us would have met her before. I believe she lives on Nob Hill. She came this far all alone, but she needs a group to team up with. So I’ve invited Sarah to travel with us.”

  Hetty was speechless. Uncle Donall had asked someone to join them without first getting Papa and Mrs. V’s permission? A woman who looked as if she was going to a tea party. Someone who was probably used to having maids to wait on her every minute of every day. Hetty was sure Sarah Lancaster would be totally helpless camping out and climbing a mountain.

  Why, look at her! Besides the impractical hat, Sarah Lancaster was dressed in a fashionable navy-blue suit with a skirt that came to her ankles.

  “I’m so pleased to meet all of you,” Sarah Lancaster said, her face all smiles. “Aren’t you just too-too excited about this adventure? Oh, I can hardly wait to get started. But I told Donall that, although I had come this far alone, I could never climb the mountain alone. Oh, I have plenty of supplies.” She put out her hand to stop any protests. “I plan to carry my goods myself or hire Indian packers. But I would be too-too lonely spending all my time by myself. I’ll pay my share, you should know that. I have plenty of money. But an adventure like this should be shared.”

  Sarah Lancaster looked at Uncle Donall and smiled a huge smile. “Don’t you think so?”

  Obviously Uncle Donall thought they should share their trip with Sarah Lancaster, but Hetty couldn’t imagine doing so. And by the look on Alma’s and Mrs. V’s faces, Hetty could tell they agreed with her.

  “I think we should ask Papa, don’t you, Uncle Donall?” Hetty stared at him, sending him all sorts of messages that she couldn’t begin to put into words in front of Sarah Lancaster.

  Papa walked up in time to hear what Hetty said. “Ask me what, Hetty? And who is this charming lady?”

  Uncle Donall made introductions again, and Papa took Sarah Lancaster’s hand. “I’m so pleased to meet you. I see no reason why you can’t join us. The more the—”

  “Papa, may I talk to you?” Hetty asked.

  “Oh, please, could you talk to your papa later, Hetty?” Sarah interrupted, breathless. “One reason I came over to your tent, besides wanting to meet you so badly, is that I found a photographer on the beach. For a dollar he’ll take our picture. Don’t you want a picture at the start of our adventure? I do. Please come with me, you and Alma both.”

  Sarah put out her white-gloved hand and wouldn’t take it back until Hetty put hers in it. Hetty looked at Alma.

  Alma raised her shoulders slightly and widened her eyes. “May I go, Mama?”

  “I think a picture at the beginning of our trip would be a nice memento for your scrapbook, but I need you right back to help with tonight’s food.” Mrs. Vasquez hesitated, then searched in her pocket.

  “Oh, my treat, Mrs. Vasquez. The photos are my treat.” Sarah waved at Alma’s mother and tugged Hetty away from the fire. She hooked her other arm into the crook of Uncle Donall’s and swept them away toward the beach. Snowflakes stopped and the sun tried to come out, as if reflecting Sarah’s mood.

  They wove their way through tents toward the rush of the ocean, the screaming gulls, and the eager voices of new people arriving.

  Just ahead, up on the beach, away from where the tide could come in and take his props, Hetty saw a man with a big, black-draped camera.

  “Take your photo, sir? Take your photo, ma’am?” he asked.

  The man led Sarah and Uncle Donall to a little stage with a painted background of a rickety wooden shack. He offered Uncle Donall his choice of a goldpan, an axe, or a rifle, and then he handed Sarah a bouquet of wildflowers.

  Sarah Lancaster clutched the flowers and tugged Uncle Donall close to her, pushing a goldpan into his hands. Uncle Donall tried to strike a serious pose, but Sarah Lancaster tilted her head and laughed.

  Many people stopped to watch, then stood in line to be next.

  “They look like a bride and groom,” Alma whispered to Hetty.

  “Please, Alma, please don’t say such a thing,” Hetty whispered back, though she had to admit that Uncle Donall, with his unruly curling hair and his big smile, and Sarah Lancaster, with her sparkling green eyes, made a handsome couple. Sarah was almost as tall as Uncle Donall and as thin as a willow tree. She reminded Hetty of a spirited horse, ready to gallop off at the slightest impulse.

  Once the first photo was taken, Sarah pushed Uncle Donall away and tugged Hetty and Alma in front of the camera. “Girls only,” she said, laughing again. She hugged Hetty close as if she had known her for years. Hetty tried to smile at the photographer as he stepped back under the cloth draping his camera, but she found she could scarcely breathe.

  “Come back in four hours for your photograp
hs,” the photographer said, taking Sarah Lancaster’s money.

  They watched the next man pose for his picture. Suddenly a gust of wind blew over the painted background and nearly took Sarah’s big hat. Sarah grabbed it and placed it back on her head, tilting it to a flirty angle. Alma asked the question that had formed in Hetty’s mind, too.

  “Are you planning to wear that hat on the trail, Miss Lancaster?”

  “Oh, yes, Alma. My friends in San Francisco made me a bet that I couldn’t wear a stylish hat all the way to Dawson. I can never resist a bet, can you, Alma?”

  A bet? A bet! Uncle Donall’s favorite word. No wonder he was attracted to this woman. They were two of a kind.

  Hetty stared at Uncle Donall and Sarah Lancaster as they lingered near the beach, chatting and waving at new friends. She and Alma, Papa and Mrs. Vasquez were going to climb to the top of a snow-covered pass with this butterfly of a woman?

  Hetty took a deep breath, bit her bottom lip to hold back a sob, and then thought, At least she’s wearing sensible shoes.

  CHAPTER 4

  ON THE TRAIL

  The next morning they got up at first light and dressed quickly in the frosty air. Hetty’s stomach was so jumpy, she could eat only a few bites of her cold breakfast. Once Papa and Uncle Donall took the tents down, Hetty stared at the huge piles of supplies, some stacks six feet high. The stacks included Sarah Lancaster’s provisions, which Sarah, Uncle Donall, and Papa had moved over last night after dinner.

  Those who could afford to hire Native packers could get to Chilkoot Pass in a few days. But Papa and Uncle Donall had figured out that, if they had good luck, it would take them a month. Hetty had hoped Sarah Lancaster would decide to go on without them once she heard that, but she seemed determined to stay with Uncle Donall.

  Hetty glanced around to see Sarah hurrying into camp pushing a two-wheeled cart. “A man in Dyea is selling these. I just couldn’t see carrying all my supplies on my back if I could use a cart to haul them. A boy is coming right behind me with another cart, Maria. I bought you one, too. Now, don’t protest.” Sarah held out her hand to Mrs. Vasquez, and Hetty noticed that she had exchanged her white gloves for brown leather ones. “We can’t afford to have our chief cook too tired at night, can we?”

  Mrs. Vasquez looked at Sarah and shrugged, and together they set to work. They tied down a huge load, maybe three hundred pounds, on each cart. Hetty could easily see that the carts, whose wheels were almost as high as Hetty was tall, would save time and energy.

  Sarah showed Mrs. Vasquez what she’d learned about handling the carts. “Coming over here, I tried pushing and pulling. I definitely think pushing is easier, as long as you look out for rocks on the trail.”

  Uncle Donall brought Hetty and Alma the first of their loads. Each pack weighed about twenty pounds.

  “I’m not sure I can carry twenty pounds.” Hetty lifted her pack, groaned, then grinned at Uncle Donall.

  “The load will feel lighter when it’s on your back. And you have no choice, Sissy Girl.” Uncle Donall knew the right words to use to get Hetty angry enough to lift anything.

  While they waited for Papa to finish organizing the provisions, Mrs. V pulled Hetty and Alma behind her cart and showed them where she had hidden her money. Half was in the bottom of her small trunk and half in a specially marked bag of rice. “I don’t plan to be robbed again,” Mrs. V said. “But if anything happens to me, I want you two girls to know where my money is.”

  “Nothing is going to happen to you, Mama,” Alma said, looking worried.

  “You never know. This is going to be a very difficult trip.”

  When they seemed ready to leave, Papa called everyone together to discuss plans for the day.

  “Finnegans Point is the place where most Klondikers camp after leaving Dyea. But that’s four miles away, and I figure we can’t haul all our supplies that far in a day. So we’ll take our first loads to the halfway point and set up camp. One of us will stay there to guard our belongings while the rest come back for more loads. I’ve asked Donall to stand guard on this end until the last load is moved. We need a strong person to guard in Dyea, since the risk of theft seems greater here.”

  “I’m willing to stand guard here,” Uncle Donall said, leaning on a pile of goods and lighting his pipe, “if Maria stands guard at the new camp.”

  “And perhaps starts supper?” Mrs. V said, smiling at Donall.

  “That, too.” Uncle Donall returned one of his own charming smiles.

  “Are we ready for the big adventure at last?” Papa asked, looking at his pocket watch and hoisting his pack.

  “Ready!” everyone shouted. “Let’s go!”

  Hetty, Alma, and Papa shouldered their packs and followed Mrs. V and Sarah, pushing carts, through the tent city toward the trail.

  Andy Nickerson waved at Mrs. V as they passed his camp. “See you at Finnegans Point.”

  Eddie Jacobson ran to catch up to Hetty and Alma. “We’re leaving in a few minutes. We’ll look for you tonight, or at Finnegans Point.”

  Thousands of Klondikers were already moving along the trail toward Chilkoot Pass. Until the trail widened, Hetty and Alma had to walk quickly, or people behind them grumbled or bumped into them. Everyone was excited and acted as if they could reach the pass today.

  They couldn’t see Chilkoot Pass, but several snow-covered peaks, backed by a rare blue sky, looked millions of miles away. Hetty couldn’t imagine walking that far.

  “Look at those mountains, Hetty,” Papa said, walking beside her. “Have you ever seen anything so awe-inspiring? Don’t you wish your mother was here to see such a sight?”

  How like Papa, Hetty thought, to notice every detail of their surroundings. And to think of Mama now, just the way he shared everything with her when she was alive.

  The trail was level and soon widened so that people could spread out. Hetty and Alma, who were following Mrs. V’s and Sarah’s carts, could slow down. The Dyea River rushed along on the west side of the trail, and on the other side they passed groves of cottonwood and birch, the leaves turning yellow after fall frosts. Dark green spruce trees and red bushlike thickets made a lovely contrast of color. When Hetty listened carefully, she could hear the chip, chip, chip of sparrows in the brush. A crow rose from a cottonwood branch, croaking in a hoarse voice—no doubt wondering, Hetty thought, why so many people had come to disturb his home.

  The trail was fairly smooth, but even so, Hetty was glad she had good, sturdy, ankle-high shoes. They weren’t pretty, but she knew she was going to walk more on this trip than she had ever walked in her life.

  Before they’d gone a half-mile, Hetty’s pack rubbed her shoulders and felt unwieldy. She bent over and tried to balance it better. “I think we got the wrong packs,” she said to Alma. “These must weigh a hundred pounds.”

  Alma giggled because Hetty was exaggerating again. “Are you scared about climbing this mountain, Hetty?” she asked, taking Hetty’s hand.

  “Yes,” Hetty admitted. “I’ve been scared ever since we left home, but I’ve told myself it’s okay. Scared and excited and eager sometimes get all mixed up in my head. But maybe if I had a big picture hat, I’d think I could do anything.” Hetty and Alma laughed. Laughing helped. Hetty vowed to do a lot of laughing.

  “I’m scared that I can’t keep up, carrying this pack,” Alma said.

  “Try not to think about the load you’re carrying.”

  Alma sighed and shifted her backpack. “What else is there to think about?”

  “The scenery And all these trunks and boxes piled along the path. Have you noticed that no one is guarding them? Don’t you wonder what’s in them?” Hetty’s imagination filled in the answers to all the questions that flew through her mind.

  “I wish I were a writer,” Alma said. “You’re so lucky to be able to write stories and poetry, Hetty. When we come back rich, and you’re a famous lady writer, you can step right into high society, right on Nob Hill. You can dress lik
e Sarah Lancaster.”

  “By then, Alma, you and your mother will have found a fortune in gold, settled on Nob Hill yourself, and opened a famous restaurant with crystal chandeliers. I’ll bring all my writer friends to eat there every night.”

  They lost sight of Sarah, but as they walked at a steady pace, following Mrs. V to help her if her cart got stuck, Hetty daydreamed about all the things she’d do once she and Papa found gold.

  It was late morning when they came upon Sarah Lancaster, resting beside the trail, reading a book of poetry. “There you are,” she said.

  “Did you bring that book of poetry with you from San Francisco?” Hetty asked. “Books are so heavy, Papa would let me bring only two.”

  “No, I found it.” Sarah pointed to a trunk and some wooden crates right behind her.

  “But aren’t the owners coming back?” Hetty asked.

  “I saw a woman abandon this trunk. She was crying, but she said she realized she’d brought too much. Let’s look in it. I only took out this book.” Sarah jumped up, lifted the lid, and unpacked more as Hetty, Alma, and Mrs. V watched.

  “Nothing worthwhile,” Sarah said, as she set aside a lamp and a strangely shaped vase.

  “Don’t you feel funny rummaging through someone else’s private life?” Hetty finally asked.

  “It’s just stuff.” Sarah held up some pink beads and earrings to match. “Look, this jewelry is cheap glass.”

  “It wasn’t just stuff to whoever packed it,” Mrs. Vasquez said. “It meant something to them, or they wouldn’t have brought it along.”

  “Maybe the woman’s husband gave her those beads on their first wedding anniversary. Or her birthday,” Hetty added, thinking of how Papa had given her mother gifts on every occasion.

  Sarah looked at Hetty for a long moment. She placed everything back in the trunk and shut the lid. “You have a wonderful imagination, Hetty,” she said. “I’m eager to get to know you better.”