The storm lasted two days. To while away the long hours, everyone slept, read in the dim light of day, or played cards and talked. They took turns watching over Papa. Hetty and Alma played cat’s cradle with some string they had in their packs. And Hetty wrote page after page in her journal, describing the entire trip and all her feelings.
On the morning of the third day, complete silence woke Hetty. Not that she’d gotten used to the howling wind, but its absence seemed strange.
She stuck her head outside the tent to see an all-white world. “We’re going to have to dig out of here,” she called to anyone who was listening.
Uncle Donall, Sarah, and Mr. Nickerson had been smart enough to bring shovels into the tent, along with as many of their things as would fit. Everyone turned out to shovel snow. They hadn’t dug far before they heard someone digging in their direction. A moment later, Eddie Jacobson popped out of a snowdrift with a big grin on his face. “Hey, Alma, Hetty. Some storm, huh? Were you scared?”
“No, we just waited it out,” Hetty lied. She had been a little scared, wondering if the snow would ever stop falling.
“I brought a rope with me. I’ll tie it to your tent pole so we can go back and forth from our tent to yours.”
Alma and Hetty, using the shovels they had brought to dig for gold, helped Eddie widen the path, packing walls of snow on either side.
“I have to check on Papa,” Hetty said, throwing down her shovel. She really meant to rest, although she did want to see Papa.
“Me, too.” Alma followed her.
They hurried inside the tent to Papa’s side. “Papa, you’re awake.”
“His fever has broken,” Mrs. Vasquez said. “He should start to get better now.”
“Oh, Papa, the snowdrifts are ten feet high.”
“Now, Hetty,” Papa said, his voice weak but his smile big. “You know how you like to exaggerate.”
“No, she’s telling the truth, Mr. McKinley,” Alma said. “Donall says it probably snowed only three feet, but the wind piled the snow into huge drifts.”
“Yeah, we made a path between our tents.” Eddie had followed Hetty and Alma into the tent, and now he stuck up for Hetty. “Papa sends his regards. Mama says we should cook dinner together to save on wood.”
“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea. We can make it a party.” Sarah Lancaster had come into the tent to change into dry clothing. She ducked behind the blanket separating off her bedroll.
“I’m not sure Sophie Jacobson will be in the mood for a party,” Mrs. Vasquez said, reminding them all that Mrs. Jacobson was grieving.
“Alma and I will go ask her, Mrs. V,” Hetty said. “We’ll have a small party. A quiet party. She’ll know we don’t mean any disrespect.”
Hetty wasn’t sure Sarah knew how to have a quiet party, but she and Alma pulled their coats back on and ran outside to find Mrs. Jacobson.
“I’ll tell Pa and Carl the plans.” Eddie picked up his shovel and went to look for his father and Carl.
Alma and Hetty walked along the snowy passageway. The Jacobsons’ tent was quiet. They heard the thud and scrape of a shovel nearby, but couldn’t see anyone.
“Anyone here?” Hetty called and got no answer. She lifted her finger to her lips, then motioned to Alma that she was going inside. She peeked around the tent flap and pulled it aside.
The Jacobsons’ tent was bigger than theirs, and they had divided off rooms with rope and blankets. Hetty stepped inside. She peeked around the first blanket and saw two bedrolls and clothes that belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Jacobson.
She tiptoed to the second “wall” and pulled it aside quietly.
Sitting beside one heap of blankets was a good-sized tin tobacco box. She stopped. Listened. Alma would give her a warning if anyone was coming.
Quickly she knelt on the canvas floor, reached for the box, and, after a couple of tugs, slipped off the lid. Inside, some bundles were wrapped in newspaper. She took out the first. Slowly she unwrapped it, the paper crackling in the silence.
In her hand she held not a locket or a doll, but a pure white skull, two rows of sharp teeth grinning at her.
“Hetty, quick,” Alma whispered. “Someone’s coming!”
CHAPTER 11
DANGER!
What are you doing in our tent?” Carl blocked Hetty’s escape, but she couldn’t have run anyway. She was frozen in place, the skull still in her hand. “Don’t break that.” Carl reached for the skull.
“What is it?” Hetty knew she was in the wrong, but she’d stand her ground. Eddie stood behind Carl, looking amused at her getting caught. Behind Eddie, Alma raised her shoulders and indicated to Hetty that she couldn’t stop the two boys from coming into their own tent.
“I’m glad there’s something you don’t know.” Carl lifted the skull carefully from Hetty’s hands, then knelt beside the tobacco tin.
“Aw, show her your collection, Carl,” Eddie said. “What harm can it do? She’s not going to break them.”
Carl hesitated for a moment, then began to unwrap the contents of the box. “That’s the skull of a cat.” He indicated the one Hetty had been holding. “And this one is a mouse. A small dog. A snake. This is my best one. It’s a porcupine.” Carl set out each skull carefully.
Hetty felt her face heating up. “I—I’m sorry, Carl, for snooping into your private belongings. I, well, some things have disappeared from our tent. I—I thought—”
“That I took them? Why would I want any of your stuff? Don’t we all have enough to carry?”
Hetty sat down and looked carefully at each clean, white skull. She owed Carl that. “Why are you carrying these, Carl? Seems strange when every pound counts.”
“He studies them,” Eddie answered for Carl. “He’s going to be a doctor someday, specializing in skulls and brains. That’s because his best friend died of a brain tumor before we left California.”
“I’ll get some more skulls in the Yukon. Maybe a wolf or a bear if I’m lucky.” Carl packed his skulls back into the tin without saying anything else.
Hetty didn’t know what else to say, either. If Carl planned to be a doctor, he must be a lot smarter than she was.
Hetty and Alma turned and slipped outside and through the tunnel of snow, with Eddie following them. “Eddie,” Hetty asked, “why didn’t you tell me about Carl’s collection, what he was carrying across the mountain that was special to him?”
“I never thought about it. Carl doesn’t like to talk about his stuff. He stays to himself most of the time, so I leave him alone. Kids at school made fun of him because he’s so smart.”
“I think that what he wants to do is wonderful.” Hetty looked around as they followed the passageway. “Where’s your mother, Eddie? We still need to ask her if it’s all right to have a little party to celebrate the end of the snowstorm.”
“I’m sure it is, but I’ll go find her, and I’ll ask Pa, too.” Eddie took off running.
“I don’t know what to think, Alma,” Hetty said when Eddie was gone. “I was so sure Carl was hiding our things. Now I can’t believe he’s our thief.”
“Everything we find out leaves me more puzzled, Hetty.”
“Let’s watch everyone carefully tonight.”
That evening Hetty decided, despite the cold, that she’d wear her next-to-best dress for the party. She found it in her pack, pressed her hands over the wrinkles, and put it on. Did she have time to write about Carl’s skulls? She reached under her pillow, where she kept her journal. What—
There, polished like new, lay her locket atop her journal. She reached for it, then paused, hesitant to touch it for fear it would vanish again. If she had found it in her pack, mixed in with her dresses, she would have thought she’d only misplaced it—that all this time she had only imagined someone had stolen it. But, no, here it was, set out where she could easily find it.
Carefully she opened it. Her mother’s smiling face stared back at her. Hetty’s eyes filled with tears, and she let them
flow.
“Hetty! What’s wrong?” Alma came into the tent and hurried over to where Hetty stood.
Hetty held out her locket, the chain spilling through her fingers.
“Your locket! Where did you find it? What is going on, Hetty?”
Hetty fastened the locket chain around her neck and rubbed the shiny heart as it lay in the hollow of her throat. “I have a million questions, Alma, and not one answer.”
The party that evening was small and quiet, but it was what they needed. All the Jacobsons came, even Carl, though he didn’t talk to them. He ate his food and watched people but never said a word. Mr. Jacobson played some hymns and then some quiet—sad, Hetty thought—ballads on his accordion. They talked about Rosie, and what a joy she had been for her short life. They talked about home. The places they’d left behind. What they missed most. Mr. Nickerson talked about his life in Nebraska as a boy. He told them he hadn’t lived in a real house for so long, he’d almost forgotten what it was like.
Hetty was sure it wasn’t the kind of party Sarah and Uncle Donall had had in mind, but it seemed to suit everyone just to get together. Papa coughed some, but he looked a lot better. Hetty was so thankful. She had been afraid he had pneumonia.
The next morning dawned sunny and so bright that they had to put on the snow goggles they’d brought. Hetty wondered if she looked as funny as Alma did in the dark glasses that looked like huge fish eyes. But without them, Hetty had to squint her eyes so tight that she could scarcely see.
While everyone was outside, holding a cup of tea or coffee, Papa said, “I’m not sure we can carry all these goods to the top of that mountain. I’m feeling as limp as a wet glove.” He nodded at the line of gloves hanging near the fire to dry.
“But, Papa, we have to,” Hetty said. “Look how far we’ve come. We can’t turn back now. You can’t give up, Papa. This trip was your idea.”
Hetty didn’t think she could turn back. As hard as climbing the Golden Stairs was going to be, curiosity was taking charge of her. She knew what lay behind. She wanted to see what was ahead. “What happened to your sense of curiosity, Papa? Don’t you want to know what’s on the other side of Chilkoot Pass? Don’t you want to write stories about the goldfields?”
“My curiosity is just fine, Hetty.” Papa smiled at her. “It’s my back and my legs that want to give up. Let’s see how much money we have. Maybe we can hire packers to take us over the pass and on to Lake Lindeman. I can’t pull my weight anymore, and I hate being a burden to everyone.”
The idea of someone else carrying the packs sounded wonderful. The cost was scary. “Eddie said the Native people are charging fifty cents per pound.” Hetty did some quick ciphering on the palm of her glove. “That’s about a thousand dollars apiece for Uncle Donall and us, for Mrs. V and Alma, and for Sarah.”
Papa nodded. “I know.” He did look tired—as if he couldn’t even carry a pencil and paper to write his newspaper articles.
“Maybe we can stay here until you’re stronger,” Hetty suggested.
“The weather is only going to get worse.” Uncle Donall pushed up a pile of snow with the toe of his boot. Hetty knew he didn’t have the patience to wait long.
Sarah Lancaster tossed the remainder of her tea into a snowdrift. “I have the solution to this problem. I’m carrying a lot of money. I’ll help you hire the Native people.”
“But, Sarah—” Mrs. Vasquez and Papa spoke together. “We can’t—”
“You can. If I’m going to be a member of this family, I should invest in our future.” Sarah Lancaster took off her picture hat and set it on a stack of flour bags. Her reddish-brown hair, an untidy nest on top of her head, spilled out ringlets around her face. Her green eyes were smiling as if she had a secret.
Uncle Donall stepped up beside Sarah and took her hand. “I have an announcement to make. I’ve asked Sarah to marry me. She has agreed, and she will be a part of our family as soon as we reach Dawson.”
Hetty felt her eyes widen and before she could stop herself, she gasped. “What? Oh, that’s—that’s—”
“A surprise?” Sarah laughed. “But you saw the ring Donnie gave me, the one I had to give back.” She looked at Uncle Donall, her eyes teasing him. “He’s promised me another when we get to Dawson.”
Papa, Mrs. V, and Alma crowded around the couple to congratulate them, but Hetty couldn’t help worrying how they were all going to get to Dawson.
“How much money do you have, Sarah?” Hetty asked.
“Hetty! That’s very impolite,” Mrs. Vasquez scolded. She probably wanted to know, too, but she never would have asked.
Maybe Hetty had some spunk left over from confronting Uncle Donall. She’d blurted out the question before she thought about how it would sound. “I’m sorry,” she apologized.
“That’s okay, Hetty. It’s no secret that I’ve never had to worry about money.” Sarah unrolled one of the tulle roses on her hat to show them what was hidden inside—money, lots of money. If each rose held the same amount, there were thousands of dollars. Sarah could help them.
No one knew what to say. Hetty just stared at the fortune decorating Sarah’s hat. Off and on, Hetty had wondered if Sarah Lancaster could be their thief. But now Hetty knew Sarah had no need to steal anything. She could buy the world.
“Please, please, let me help. I’ve come to love you all very much.” Sarah held out money to Papa. “If you think you have to, you can pay me back when you find gold.”
Papa looked at Mrs. Vasquez. She nodded. Papa didn’t need her permission, but he had always been one to get everyone’s opinion about things. It came from being a reporter, Hetty thought. Reporters always say, And how do you feel about this? Most people usually answer. Mrs. Vasquez was speechless, but Hetty could see that she looked happy.
Hetty felt totally relieved. They could go on.
As it turned out, when Sarah and Uncle Donall came back from hiring Indian packers to carry their supplies over the pass, they said none of the packers would climb that day Sarah seemed impatient with the delay, but even so, she sparkled with happiness, looking lovely in her pretty blue corduroy suit.
“Why won’t they climb?” Hetty asked. “It’s a beautiful day.”
“They say there’s too much new snow. It’s not safe,” Uncle Donall explained. “Even the Mounties are telling people not to climb today.”
“We ran into Colin Brandauer,” Sarah said. “He said to tell you hello, Hetty.” Sarah clapped her hands. “I know. If we can’t climb over the pass, we can at least go sledding. We can climb the stairs a short way, then sled down. Want to go, Donnie?”
Uncle Donall shook his head no, laughing at Sarah’s foolishness. “I think I can find better recreation.”
“Can we go, Mrs. V? Climb a little way and slide down?” Hetty begged. “Sledding looks like such fun.”
Many Klondikers were on the Golden Stairs despite the warnings of the Native packers and the Mounties. Alongside the stairs, people returning to camp for a second load were sliding down on whatever they could find—shovels, goldpans, or the seat of their pants.
“Please, Mama,” Alma begged. “I’ve never been sledding.”
Mrs. V gave in, and Hetty and Alma took off. By the time they had dug their goldpans out of the supplies, Sarah had disappeared, so Hetty and Alma raced to the Golden Stairs to find her.
Even with the sun shining, the air was cold. Hetty felt like a roly-poly bear in two sweaters, long underwear, two pairs of pants, her coat, and gloves with mittens pulled over them. She had tied a muffler over her stocking hat to keep it on tight.
Climbing was easier with no load on her back—but not any faster, since there was a Klondiker directly in front of her and one right in back of Alma. Each was bent double carrying sixty or eighty pounds. Hetty and Alma stepped up slowly, moving with the crowd. The stairs were steep and slick. Hetty clutched the rope that someone had strung all the way to the top for a banister. One step, one step, one step. Fifteen hund
red steps would take all day.
Someone slid past them, squealing. “Look, it’s Sarah, acting like a little kid,” Alma laughed. “How’d she get so far ahead of us?”
“I’m getting scared, Alma. This is far enough. Let’s step out of line.” The mountainside had gotten so steep that Hetty found she couldn’t look up or down without feeling dizzy.
She and Alma stepped off the stairs and sank into the deep snow. Hetty finally looked around. People who slid by were going fast, really fast. Now Hetty completely lost her nerve. She waited and waited, clutching her goldpan, and Alma waited with her, both of them turning to icicles. Hetty wiggled and stomped. She knew that she had to slide or climb, one or the other.
Soon Sarah waved at them and walked back to where they stood. “Are you scared? It’s great fun, girls. Just shut your eyes and go. I’m going to climb farther up for one more slide. Then let’s go have hot chocolate.”
Hetty and Alma watched Sarah until she was out of sight. “Okay, we have to slide,” Hetty said. She took a deep breath. “Ready, Alma? Let’s hold hands. One, two—”
Before Hetty could say “three” and sit on her goldpan, a huge booming sound filled the air, echoing like the biggest clap of thunder she’d ever heard.
“Avalanche!” someone yelled. “Run!”
People on the stairs jumped off and slid past them. Hetty had time to look up once more before she was knocked off her feet.
Tons of snow raced toward them!
CHAPTER 12
DIGGING OUT
Hetty clutched the sides of her goldpan and slid ahead of the avalanche. She ducked her head, expecting to be buried. When she finally came to a stop at the bottom of the Golden Stairs, a terrible silence surrounded her.
Alma broke the quiet. “Sarah!” she screamed. “Sarah was above us, Hetty. I don’t see her anywhere.”
“She was right in the path of the snowslide.”
Mystery at Chilkoot Pass (Mysteries through History) Page 9
