Mystery at Chilkoot Pass (Mysteries through History)

by Barbara Steiner

  “Read me what you’ve written, Hetty,” Alma begged when Hetty started to put the book away. “I don’t see people the way you do.”

  “When you write down details, you start to see more and more.” Hetty opened the journal, turned back a page, and began to read.

  Yesterday, two people walked ahead of us for so long, we struck up a conversation. The woman’s pack held some strange shapes. She told us she and her husband were carrying a piano.

  Alma laughed. “Wasn’t that funny, Hetty? I couldn’t believe it.”

  Hetty giggled and continued to read.

  I asked her how that was possible. She said they had taken the piano apart and were carrying the pieces to Dawson. When they get there, they’ll put the piano back together and sell it to one of the hotels or saloons. She said the piano pieces are wrapped in wool yarn, which she is going to knit into sweaters and sell. Not all of the Klondikers are looking for gold lying on the ground.

  Hetty closed her journal and sighed.

  “It’s hard to believe there’s gold lying on the ground, Hetty. And with so many people going to look for it, will there be any left by the time we get there?”

  Hetty found that she cared less and less about gold and more and more about having a thief in their party.

  When Rosie woke up, Mrs. V asked, “Hetty, Alma, do you two girls feel safe guarding supplies while Sophie and I take our first load on to tonight’s campsite? I feel guilty staying here any longer.”

  “Of course we do,” Hetty answered. “And I never get tired of resting.” She watched as Mrs. V and Mrs. Jacobson, carrying Rosie and a backpack, disappeared around a bend.

  “You keep an eye on our supplies, Alma. I watched where Eddie left his small pack. I’m sure it’s where he keeps his personal things. I’m going to look in it for my locket.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Alma asked.

  “I’ll be careful.” Hetty loosened the drawstring of the backpack Eddie had left with them and widened the top. Dirty clothes spilled out. Carefully she lifted out a pouch similar to the one where she kept her journal, her pencils, and her two books. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” she whispered, and carefully opened the flap. She pulled out candles, matches, a jackknife, and some string. Nothing suspicious at all. She stuffed everything back inside.

  Next, since she had time, she looked for the pack that Carl had been carrying. Opening it, she raised her eyebrows in surprise. Carl’s clothes were on top, but unlike Eddie’s, they were carefully folded, stacked neatly. She lifted them out, finding nothing else until she got almost to the bottom. There was a tin tobacco box. Did she dare open it? She looked up, thought she heard the soft thud of boots on the trail and people talking. Quickly but carefully, she put everything back in what she hoped was the same order and closed the pack.

  “Find anything?” Alma whispered just as Papa and Mr. Jacobson appeared with a huge load.

  “Only that Carl likes things neat and Eddie doesn’t care,” Hetty whispered, not mentioning the tin box. She wished she could have opened it and looked inside.

  While Papa and Mr. Jacobson rested, Hetty and Alma got back on the trail. They caught up with Mrs. V and Mrs. Jacobson and walked until mid-afternoon, when they reached an obstacle that seemed impossible to cross. A waterfall had turned to ice as it spread across the trail, continuing down a steep bank so that on the right was a drop-off, on the left a cliff and the ice flow.

  “Oh, my,” said Mrs. Vasquez. “How can we possibly get over that?”

  Sophie Jacobson shifted Rosie to her other hip. She looked tired. Carrying a baby as well as a pack had to be hard. Rosie seemed extra quiet, her thumb in her mouth, her big blue eyes staring at the trail, as if she, too, was wondering what they were going to do next.

  Papa and Uncle Donall walked up, heaved a big sigh, and dropped the loads they were carrying. “Good thing I’m not a quitter,” said Papa.

  Mr. Jacobson stood beside them and whistled. “Whew, that’s a challenge.”

  Soon all their party stared at the icy obstacle.

  “Okay,” Papa said, “I suggest we carry everything to this spot, then think about how to get over that ice flow.” Papa found a small clearing off the trail and piled up what they had already carried. Everyone but Mrs. Jacobson and Rosie turned around and hurried back down the trail.

  After all their loads had been carried to the icy crossing, the men studied the situation, watching how other Klondikers got past the hazard. Some climbed way up and around the waterfall of ice that spread across the trail. Others roped their goods and each other across.

  Papa, Uncle Donall, and Mr. Jacobson cut small trees and built a wooden ladder to lay over the ice like a bridge. Hetty held her breath as Uncle Donall scrambled to the other side. If the ladder slipped, he’d fall down the embankment. He secured his end of the ladder to a tree, then asked all the women to cross, staying to help them off the ladder. Without a pack, Hetty scrambled across the ladder on all fours, holding tight, not looking down. Eddie laughed at her, but she didn’t care. When she looked back, Carl, watching her, actually smiled. That was the first time Hetty had seen a real smile on his face.

  Hetty watched as the other women followed. Sarah Lancaster climbed across as if she had done such tricks every day in San Francisco. Finally, the men carried load after load of their goods across. When they were done, they left the ladder there for other travelers to use.

  By the time they got all their supplies to Pleasant Camp, it was almost dark. Hetty was exhausted and starving, and she didn’t see how anyone could have the energy to cook. She was in the woods, searching for firewood, when someone grabbed her arm.

  She looked up to see Carl glaring at her, his dark eyes flashing anger. “You messed with our things, didn’t you? You looked in my pack.”

  Hetty’s heart raced. What could she say? It was as if Carl had seen her snooping. “I—I—”

  “Don’t ever touch my stuff again, you hear me?” He cracked a branch over a rock, gathered the pieces of wood, and stomped away.

  Hetty knew what she had done was wrong. But Carl acted as if he had something to hide. She gathered an armload of wood and hurried back to camp to find Andy Nickerson walking up to their fire.

  The big man smiled his crooked smile and winked at Mrs. Vasquez. “There you are,” he said. “I hoped you’d get across that ice all right. I just happen to have cooked extra—if you like beans.”

  Everyone groaned. They’d barely started their trip and already they were tired of beans and bacon, bacon and beans.

  “Well, I did buy a salmon from a better fisherman than me.” Mr. Nickerson held up a huge fish he had hidden behind his back, and everyone cheered.

  “Oh, Moosejaw,” Sarah said, “I’ll love you forever.”

  “I made extra rice last night, thinking we’d be tired tonight.” Mrs. Jacobson had set up her stove beside Mrs. V’s. She smiled and handed a fussy Rosie to Carl. Carl’s angry frown turned to a smile when he looked at his sister.

  “This is Mama’s birthday,” Eddie announced. “Let’s have a party.”

  “Alma, Hetty,” Mrs. Vasquez said, “if you’ll make some tortillas, maybe I can bake a cake. I’ll stew some of the dried peaches to spoon over it.”

  “Will you marry me, Maria Vasquez?” Andy Nickerson said, his eyes twinkling. “I’ve not found moose to be very good company.”

  Everyone laughed, lost their fatigue, and pitched in to celebrate Sophie Jacobson’s birthday. After dinner, Eddie and Carl gave their mother presents. Hetty was all eyes when Mrs. Jacobson opened Eddie’s present.

  “Oh, how pretty,” she said, lifting pink glass beads and earrings from a box.

  Eddie whispered to Hetty, “I found them in a trunk along the trail. Papa said they’d been thrown away. He was sure it was all right to take them.”

  Hetty knew exactly where he’d found them. She felt as if she should apologize to Eddie for thinking he had taken her locket. Carl’s present
was a small, perfect crystal he said he’d found in the river. He had fashioned a string into a holder for a necklace.

  “I’m sorry the cake is so flat,” Mrs. Vasquez apologized as she cut it and handed out slices. “But an oven under a sheet of iron doesn’t work so good.”

  “Only you could bake a cake on a campfire, Maria,” Mrs. Jacobson said. “Thank you.” Rosie sat in her mother’s lap and clapped her hands as she stuffed cake into her mouth.

  Hetty and Alma had started eating when Hetty noticed that Carl had disappeared. “I’ll get Carl,” she offered. “He’s missing the cake.”

  “He’s probably in the tent,” Eddie said, reaching for his slice.

  Hetty ran to the Jacobsons’ big tent, thinking she should probably apologize to Carl. She lifted the flap and stepped in. “Carl, we’re serving cake.”

  “Get out of here!” Quickly Carl put something behind his back. “You can’t come in my tent without permission.”

  “I just did. What are you hiding?”

  “Nothing. And if I was hiding something, it’s none of your business.”

  Hetty stared at the tall, skinny boy. His dark eyes held anger—and what looked for all the world like fear. He stood up and came toward her. She stepped back, then scrambled out of the tent. Stumbling, she turned and ran back to the birthday campfire, not caring if Carl got any cake or not.

  Suddenly she was sure she had suspected the wrong brother.

  CHAPTER 6

  A BATH AND OTHER ENTERTAINMENT

  Klondikers had named this stopping place Pleasant Camp, because it was so good to rest after coming over the narrow trail studded with boulders, driftwood, and ice.

  At breakfast the next morning, Mrs. Vasquez suggested, “I think the rain has let up. Let’s stay here a day or two, do laundry and take baths. It’s getting harder and harder to find firewood. Soon we’ll have only enough to heat water for cooking—if that.”

  “Good idea,” Sarah Lancaster agreed. “I’d love a bath.”

  “Me, too. I’m starting to stink.” Hetty laughed.

  “Don’t let Eddie Jacobson hear you say that,” Alma warned. “He’ll never let you forget it.”

  “Alma, you go tell Sophie Jacobson our plan,” Mrs. V said. “I’m sure she’ll agree, since she was wishing we could rest. Then come back and help me with the laundry.”

  “Is it all right if I go with Papa to look for firewood?” Hetty was used to talking to Papa often, and she had missed doing that.

  Mrs. V agreed and Hetty, Papa, and Uncle Donall set out, Papa carrying his axe. Uncle Donall hurried ahead.

  “Papa, I haven’t seen you look at your watch today,” Hetty said. “Did you put it in your pack?” Hetty knew Papa had a habit of looking at his watch often, even when the time didn’t matter.

  Papa sighed. “I’ve lost my watch, Hetty. I’ve looked everywhere. I guess I dropped it someplace.”

  Papa’s face got red. He never had been good at lying. Uncle Donall was the brother who could tell any sort of tall tale and make you think it was the honest truth.

  Hetty stared at Papa for a minute. “You think Uncle Donall took it, don’t you?” she whispered. “Took it and lost it in a card game.”

  “No, Hetty, I don’t think so. It wasn’t worth much to anyone but me—or Donall. You see, my mother gave it to me after my father died. Inside, the case was engraved with my great-grandfather’s name. Donall wouldn’t part with it. He knows it’s a family treasure.”

  Hetty kept quiet, waiting for Papa to speak again.

  “I don’t want to think Donall took it.”

  “Papa, someone took my locket, the one with Mama’s photo in it. And Mrs. V’s brooch is gone, not to mention her money. We have a thief with us, and it’s either someone in our family or someone we’ve made friends with.”

  “No, no, Hetty, not our good new friends.”

  “I’ve wondered about Eddie Jacobson, or Carl—” Hetty remembered how guilty Carl had acted when she surprised him, how he had hidden something behind his back. Could Carl have stolen Papa’s watch last night?

  “Surely not. The Jacobsons are wonderful people.”

  “So is Uncle Donall. But—”

  “We’d better get some wood, Hetty. I don’t want to talk about this again. I’m sure I dropped my watch when I was crawling on the ladder across the ice or—or—sometime.”

  When Hetty and Papa returned to camp with an armload of chopped tree trunks and limbs, Mrs. Vasquez had a fire crackling and water heating for laundry.

  “Donall brought wood, and then Mr. Nickerson brought me a load of wood while you were gone. Wasn’t that sweet of Andy?” Mrs. V’s face was so brown, it was hard to tell when she was blushing, but Hetty would have sworn she was now.

  Andy Nickerson was courting Mrs. Vasquez!

  “I told Sarah to go ahead and bathe,” Mrs. Vasquez said. “Come and help Alma and me with laundry, Hetty.”

  “I have a headache,” Hetty pleaded. “Do you mind if I help later?”

  Mrs. V nodded, and Hetty ducked into the tent. She had hoped for a few minutes to herself, but she could hear splashing behind the blankets hung in one corner of the tent.

  “Yoo-hoo,” Sarah Lancaster called out from the makeshift bathing room. “Who is that?”

  “It’s Hetty. Does the bath feel wonderful?”

  “We only get three inches of warm water, but I think it’s the best bath I ever had.” Sarah started to sing: “‘Tell me, do you love me? For that’s the sweetest story ever told.’”

  Sarah didn’t have a very good voice, but she didn’t seem to care. Hetty smiled, knowing Sarah had been charmed by Uncle Donall. Did she love him? Hetty thought it would be risky to fall in love with her uncle. He was so unreliable about everything. And he hated being tied down by a job or even by an invitation to dinner. Hetty hoped that Sarah wouldn’t get her heart broken.

  Hetty spread out her bedroll, took a canvas pouch from her pack, and lifted out her journal and a pencil. What she really planned to do for a few minutes was write. She closed her eyes to think about Papa’s watch being gone.

  I read a story once about an ostrich, a bird who sticks its head in the sand, thinking it is safe from any danger it can’t see. Papa is often like that ostrich. He refuses to believe something, hoping that will keep it from being true. If Uncle Donall took Mrs. V’s money and used it to gamble at cards, as I fear he did, he must be losing a great deal. My heart breaks to think this, but I have to face the truth.

  Yet even I cannot believe that Uncle Donall would have taken my locket, Mrs. V’s brooch, or Papa’s watch—inexpensive things that mean so much to us. To be fair to Uncle Donall, I will list others who might be our thief. (How strange that I have called him “our thief.” I must ask others around us if they have lost anything.)

  One of the Jacobsons: Each time something has disappeared, the Jacobsons have been camped near us. One of them could have found an opportunity to slip into our tents and take things, but I am most suspicious of Carl. He is never friendly, and last night he was surely hiding something from me.

  Andy Nickerson: He is often in our camp. Is he really courting Mrs. V, or is he only pretending to do so to cover his tracks as he takes things little by little?

  Sarah Lancaster: I must list her. But if she is rich enough to live on Nob Hill, she could buy a dozen lockets or brooches or watches much finer than ours. Is it possible she is not rich? What if she made up the story of living on Nob Hill? Might she have the idea that Uncle Donall is a rich gambler, a good “catch” for a husband?

  Hetty could hear the soft sounds of Sarah getting dressed. She smiled at the idea of Sarah thinking Uncle Donall was rich.

  Hetty looked up as Alma stepped into the tent. “Are you feeling better, Hetty? Mama gave me a break from washing clothes. This is a good chance to do some exploring.”

  “I’m too tired,” Hetty begged off. “And you can see I’m writing.”

  “You don’t have to get
snippy.”

  “I—I’m sorry, Alma.” Hetty glanced at the blankets behind which Sarah was humming. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Someone took Papa’s watch.”

  Alma sat down by Hetty so they could speak softly. “I’m not surprised to hear that. This morning when I searched my pack for a clean dress, I realized Miss Pittypat was gone. I can’t find her anywhere.”

  “Oh, Alma, someone took Miss Pittypat?” Miss Pittypat was a doll with a real china head that Alma’s father had given her for Christmas when she was four. The doll was precious to her. “Who on earth would steal a doll?”

  “I don’t know, but I miss her already. Hetty, I hate to suspect Donall as much as you do, but when Mama and I had the store, lots of young men came in. They bought all sorts of silly things for their girlfriends. Even dolls.”

  Hetty kept on thinking, but she put aside her journal. While Mrs. V bathed, she and Alma hung wet clothes on rope that Papa had strung around camp. After lunch, it was finally their turn for a bath. They bathed, washed each other’s hair, and then scrubbed their dirty clothes in the bathwater. Hetty felt like a new person, sparkling clean and wearing a fresh dress. She and Alma stepped outside to help finish the good dinner Mrs. Vasquez had said she was starting.

  “Look, girls. Andy brought me a starter of sourdough. Tomorrow I’m going to make sourdough pancakes for breakfast.” Mrs. V held out a fruit jar of bubbly-looking dough.

  “The dough is fermented,” Andy Nickerson said. He’d made himself comfortable on a folded blanket by the campfire. “You mix a portion with flour and water to make pancakes or biscuits. They’ll rise without yeast or baking soda. Up in the Yukon, we use the dough so much, folks call us old prospectors Sourdoughs.”

  “So you’re a Sourdough?” Hetty asked.

  “Sure am. I’ve been up here looking for gold for three years.”

  Hetty didn’t want to hear that. “Haven’t you found any? We heard you could pick up gold nuggets right off the ground.”