Mystery at Chilkoot Pass (Mysteries through History)

by Barbara Steiner

  Suddenly everyone came alive. Climbers who had escaped the snowslide hurried back up the mountain to help those who were buried.

  “Hetty!” Uncle Donall scrambled up behind them and grabbed her. “Was Sarah with you? Sledding? She was, wasn’t she?” He scanned the mountainside, fear etched on his face.

  “She was above us, Uncle Donall. She must have been buried in the slide.”

  Uncle Donall grabbed a tin plate from the debris around them. “Where? Where? Show me where to dig.”

  “I—I don’t know” Hetty floundered in the deep-packed snow. She grabbed her goldpan. “She could be anywhere. But higher, higher up than this.”

  Hetty and Alma followed Uncle Donall, digging their toes into snow packed tight like cement.

  “There, look!” Hetty pointed to a scrap of blue corduroy sticking out of the snow.

  They dug frantically, tugging at Sarah’s blue corduroy skirt, her high boots. When they had her uncovered, Hetty was even more frightened. Sarah’s eyes were closed, her lashes frosted. Her face was a deathly white, almost blue. Hetty couldn’t tell if she was breathing.

  “Take her back to camp. Get her warm, Uncle Donall,” Hetty said as Uncle Donall lifted Sarah. Hetty finished digging Sarah’s hat out of the snow and held it tight.

  “Come on, Hetty.” Alma tugged on Hetty’s sleeve. “Let’s get out of here. The snow might come down again.”

  They half slid, half ran to the campground.

  “We need hot tea and blankets, Mrs. V. Hurry.” Hetty held the tent flap so that Uncle Donall could carry Sarah inside.

  “You make some tea, Alma,” Mrs. V said as she and Papa hurried into the tent. She helped Uncle Donall take off Sarah’s snow-caked suit.

  They piled blankets around Sarah and tucked them in tight. Papa and Uncle Donall stood watching, looking helpless and frightened.

  Finally Sarah’s eyes flew open. “What—where?” One arm slid from under the blankets as she reached up. “My hat—where’s my hat?”

  Hetty almost laughed with relief that Sarah was all right, and that the first thing she had thought of was her banking hat. “I found it, Sarah. It’s right here beside you.”

  “Oh, Hetty, thank you.” Then Sarah’s eyes softened as she looked at Uncle Donall. Mrs. V, Papa, and Hetty slipped from the tent and joined Alma at the fire.

  “Look,” Alma said, pointing toward Chilkoot Pass.

  Hetty squinted and saw people being carried down the mountain.

  Fifteen bodies came down the mountain that day. Soon the sound of sawing and hammering—the sound of men making coffins—echoed across the otherwise silent blue sky.

  The next morning Eddie came by their tent. “There’s going to be a big funeral at ten o’clock. A man came to get my pa to play his accordion. You going, Hetty? Alma?”

  “No, they’re not,” Mrs. Vasquez said.

  “Yes, Maria, I think the girls should go. We should all go,” Papa said. “The world is full of good and bad. We can’t protect the girls from seeing both.”

  Hetty knew Papa was right. Still, it was a sad morning for people who two days ago had been laughing and planning a future filled with big dreams.

  At the service, Colin stood with the McKinley family. Hetty was relieved to know that he was safe. The coffins were buried in deep snow, the ground too frozen for graves to be dug. “We’ll bury them in the ground next summer,” Colin told them. “There’s a bottle in each coffin with the name of the deceased so family can find their loved ones and put up a marker later.”

  The Reverend Mortimer, who had spoken over Rosie Jacobson’s grave, gave the service, but Hetty heard little of what he said.

  She looked at her family, thankful that they were all still alive. Sarah looked pale, but she had insisted on coming to the service. Uncle Donall stood beside her, his arm around her, holding her close. Mrs. Vasquez hugged Alma tight. Hetty snuggled against Papa’s shoulder, hoping for something good to happen soon to balance out this sad day.

  The happy news surprised them all. At noon, Sarah made the announcement. “Donnie and I realize how close we came to being separated. How lucky we were. We aren’t going to wait until we get to Dawson to get married. We’re going to get married on top of Chilkoot Pass.” She turned and smiled at Uncle Donall.

  Hetty had never seen him look so happy, and with such a silly smile on his face. She stopped worrying that Sarah Lancaster was so rich and Uncle Donall so poor. This was turning into a true fairy tale.

  A wedding! A wedding atop Chilkoot Pass!

  CHAPTER 13

  A FAIRY-TALE WEDDING

  Perhaps,” Mrs. Vasquez said, “out of respect for those who died on the mountain, you two should wait to get married.”

  Sarah and Uncle Donall looked at each other, and Sarah nodded. “We’ll talk to the Reverend Mortimer,” Sarah said. “Get his opinion.”

  “I have to climb fifteen hundred stairs and still be able to stand up with Donall. In a few days, I’ll be stronger,” Papa added.

  “A bride needs time to get ready for her wedding. And I’ll admit to feeling a little shaky myself,” Sarah told Uncle Donall.

  By the next morning, Sarah and Uncle Donall had finished their plans. “The Reverend Mortimer said he would marry us day after tomorrow at the summit of the mountain,” Sarah told them at breakfast. “He said if we waited two or three days, he thought people would understand, and that a wedding might help lift people’s spirits. I’m so glad he’s not old-fashioned, wanting us to wait for months. I have my heart set on a wedding on Chilkoot Pass.”

  Hetty had never been around anyone who was getting married. Inside their tent, now forbidden territory to the men, she and Alma watched Sarah and Mrs. V make wedding preparations and helped when they could.

  “This is nearly white.” Sarah held up a dress that she had dug out of her trunk. “Do you think it will be all right for a wedding dress?”

  Mrs. Vasquez, Hetty, and Alma carefully ran their hands over the soft cotton and lace. They watched as Sarah slipped it over her head. She had on all her petticoats, and the skirt flared out as she twirled.

  “You’re going to freeze,” Hetty said.

  “I’ll wear my coat until the very last minute.” Sarah laughed. For most of the trip, Sarah Lancaster had been laughing, and now her face glowed with excitement and happiness. Sarah really did love Uncle Donall, Hetty realized. Hetty felt happy for them both.

  “I’ve just remembered.” Mrs. Vasquez ran to dig into her own trunk. “I have some lace curtains I brought for my house in Dawson. It will probably be a one-room shack, but lace curtains will make it feel like home. You can wear one, Sarah, for a veil. You can’t be a bride without a veil.”

  Sarah clapped her hands. Mrs. Vasquez dumped everything out of her trunk to find the curtains on the very bottom. She pulled one out, carefully unfolded it, smoothed out the wrinkles, and draped it over Sarah’s head.

  Hetty laughed. “What a miracle that you didn’t lose your hat in the avalanche. Are you going to wear it for the wedding?” She knew what Sarah’s answer would be. Hetty smiled every time she thought about Sarah’s hat. Her banking hat, her treasure hat. Who would have ever guessed?

  “Of course. We’ll drape the veil over the hat.”

  “You have to have something old,” Hetty said, remembering the traditional rhyme for brides.

  “My dress—my dress is old.” Sarah twirled around again.

  “And something new,” Alma added.

  “Oh, dear, where can I get something new?”

  “Something borrowed,” Alma continued. “Well, you’re only borrowing Mama’s curtain. She’ll want it back.”

  “And something blue.” Hetty dug in her pack. “I have a blue handkerchief here someplace. I sewed the lace on it myself—not too well, I’m afraid. I’m terrible with sewing.” She found the handkerchief and pressed it into Sarah’s hand.

  “Hetty, Alma, can I come in?” Eddie called from outside the tent.


  “No! Don’t you dare, Eddie Jacobson.” Hetty giggled. “But, Eddie,” Sarah called, “will you ask your father if he’ll play his accordion for my wedding?”

  “Girls, bah!” Eddie said.

  Hetty stuck her head out of the tent. “Please, Eddie, go ask him.”

  Sarah’s happy mood was catching. Mrs. Vasquez and Andy Nickerson made plans for Uncle Donall and Sarah’s wedding feast at the top of the pass. Mrs. V said they would set up the second tent for the wedding couple to start their honeymoon.

  “You and Alma will wear your best dresses, of course,” Sarah said to Hetty the next morning. “You and Alma are my bridesmaids. I won’t have it any other way. At home, I would have had half a dozen bridesmaids, but you two are so special, you’ll make up for that. And Mrs. V, you are the matron of honor.” Sarah leaned close to Mrs. Vasquez and whispered, “Unless you want to have a double wedding.” She winked at Hetty and Alma.

  “Oh, my goodness, of course not.” Mrs. Vasquez ducked her head and headed for her stove to flip over some sourdough pancakes.

  “Do you think Mama will marry Mr. Nickerson someday?” Alma whispered.

  “I don’t know. I think she likes him, and he certainly likes her, but get married? I don’t know.”

  The morning of the wedding was cold but clear—not even a hint of a cloud. Everyone was too excited to eat much breakfast. Mrs. V, Hetty, and Alma packed up the kitchen supplies and all but the few personal items they were going to carry themselves. Uncle Donall and Papa finished organizing the rest of their provisions for the Native packers, who had arrived at the McKinley camp. The tent was still standing, because Sarah was getting dressed.

  Mrs. V had suggested that Sarah put on her wedding dress after she climbed the stairs, but Sarah said that wouldn’t be any fun. Instead of strolling down a church aisle, she was marching up golden stairs. She had agreed, however, to putting her dress shoes—high-button high heels of white kid leather—in her pack to change into at the top. Uncle Donall would have to see his bride in her wedding clothes before the ceremony, of course—even if it was supposed to be bad luck. Hetty hoped that they’d already had all the bad luck they would ever have.

  The Jacobsons came over right after breakfast to lend a hand with the preparations and accompany the wedding party up the Golden Stairs. Hetty’s heart went out to Mrs. Jacobson, who helped where she could. She looked so sad, even though she was trying to smile past the tears in her eyes. She was surely thinking about baby Rosie, who would never grow up and get married. Hetty tried not to dwell on the past. They had to go forward.

  Mr. Jacobson played hymns and old melodies while everyone stood around the dying embers of the morning’s campfire, waiting for Sarah and Mrs. V to finish getting ready. Eddie was unusually quiet, probably not knowing what to say or do, since weddings were “girl stuff,” and Carl stood staring at the Golden Stairs. Hetty knew they were still sad about losing their baby sister, too.

  Hetty and Alma, with nothing to do, bounced and whispered, wishing they could get started.

  Suddenly Moosejaw rounded the tent, a big grin on his face. “Where’s the blushing bride?” In his arms he carried what looked like a huge white rabbit. “When I heard about the wedding, I found a Native woman who was selling these Arctic hare fur coats. Here’s my gift for Sarah, Hetty. Is she in the tent? Will you and Alma take it to her?”

  Hetty and Alma took the soft fur coat from him. It was so long, they had to carry it together as they stepped into the tent.

  “Here, Sarah,” Hetty said. “Something new! Moosejaw brought it. You can wear this over your wedding dress. You’ll be wonderfully warm. The coat will come to your boots.”

  Sarah squealed and reached for the coat. They handed it to her and Mrs. Vasquez. Sarah reached out of the tent and grabbed Moosejaw’s hand, then pulled him all the way into the tent and hugged him. “Oh, Moosejaw, this must have cost you an entire bag of gold dust.”

  Moosejaw’s face turned bright red. “The truth is, I knew the woman, and she didn’t charge me cheechako prices. Please, I want you to have it.”

  Hetty and Alma followed Moosejaw back outside. Then Mrs. Vasquez stuck her head out of the tent. “Sarah is almost ready. She says you men should go on to the bottom of the stairs and wait for her. She needs a moment to catch her breath.”

  As they left, all the men were laughing and teasing Uncle Donall, who hadn’t said a word that Hetty had heard this morning. She smiled to think that he might be scared.

  When the men had left, Sarah stepped out of the tent and took a huge breath, almost a sigh. “Oh, my goodness, I’m so nervous.”

  “You look so pretty!” Hetty clapped her hands.

  Sarah’s white fur coat hung open slightly to reveal the lacy white dress. The picture hat was in place, draped with Mrs. V’s lace curtain. Sarah wore her hair down, and it fell almost to her waist. A few curly tendrils framed her beaming face. She kept pushing them out of the way with her white kid gloves.

  “Isn’t your face supposed to be covered with the veil?” Hetty asked.

  “That’s the tradition, but I don’t want to fall off the stairs and slide all the way to the bottom.”

  Sophie Jacobson stepped up to Sarah. “I’d be honored if you’d carry my white Bible, Sarah.” Sophie placed the book in Sarah’s hands. “Since you have no bridal bouquet, unless you take those flowers off your hat.”

  Sarah smiled at Hetty. “I don’t think I’ll do that.” She took Sophie’s hand. “Thank you, Sophie, it’s an honor to carry your Bible. It looks old.”

  “I’ve had it since I was a little girl. I meant to give it to Rosie someday for her wedding.”

  Sarah leaned over and kissed Mrs. Jacobson on the cheek. “Now, stop fussing over me. Let me look at my bridesmaids.”

  Sarah stood Hetty and Alma in front of her and looked them over. Hetty rubbed her locket and hoped she looked good enough for a wedding.

  “Perfect. I’m so glad you found your locket, Hetty,” Sarah said. “You both look perfect—except for one thing. This is a special occasion, and I must admit we probably don’t any of us smell our best.” She giggled, reminding them of the sponge baths they were taking now that hot water was scarce. “Hetty, I have a small bottle of French perfume tucked away. Not for a wedding—not for my wedding, goodness knows. When I planned this trip, I never imagined this. I just thought about parties. Will you go get it while I make sure I’m ready?”

  French perfume! Hetty laughed as she ducked back into the tent. All of Sarah’s things were gone except for Sarah’s small pack and a white drawstring purse that Sarah usually carried at her waist. The perfume had to be in one of them.

  Hetty selected the pack. Inside were more drawstring bags. Eenie, meeny, miney—

  Hetty lifted out a large plaid bag. She pulled at the strings of the pouch. Then she felt her heart sink in her chest. All her breath flew out in a whoosh.

  Here was Mr. Nickerson’s skinning knife in its leather sheath. She recognized an initial, a curly M embroidered in satin on a white napkin. Belinda Mulrooney’s linen napkin, and—and—

  Papa’s watch. Mrs. Vasquez’s brooch. Miss Pittypat. The two photographs from Dyea Beach. And Hetty was sure that, until recently, her locket had been here, too.

  Sarah Lancaster—Sarah, the laughing bride, Hetty’s new aunt-to-be—was their thief!

  CHAPTER 14

  CONFRONTING THE THIEF

  Hetty’s heart pounded in her ears. She bent over and took a deep breath. What should she do? Uncle Donall was happier than Hetty had ever seen him. Everyone they knew, and many people they didn’t know, were excited and waiting to celebrate with Uncle Donall and Sarah. Could Hetty let Uncle Donall marry a thief? But—Uncle Donall was also a thief. Even though he had returned the money and apologized to Mrs. Vasquez, he had still stolen from her. Hetty felt terribly confused.

  A picture flashed through her mind of the awful flogging she had seen in Sheep Camp. Would someone take a whip to Sarah Lan
caster if Hetty told she was a thief?

  “Hetty? Did you find it? Come on. I’m ready to leave,” Sarah called to Hetty from outside the tent. Hetty had to do something. Or nothing.

  Quickly she placed everything back in the pouch and pulled the drawstring closed. She stuffed the pouch back into Sarah’s pack. Then she grabbed the smaller bag that Sarah carried for a purse. Sure enough, there was a tiny bottle of perfume at the bottom of the bag.

  Running out of the tent, she handed the purse and the bottle to Sarah without looking at her. She knew that Sarah would see in her eyes that something was wrong. She closed her eyes as Sarah leaned toward her and dabbed the sweet-smelling liquid behind each ear. The perfume was cloying, making her not want to take a deep breath.

  “What’s wrong, Hetty?” Alma whispered, taking hold of Hetty’s arm. “Are you faint? The perfume is really strong, isn’t it? I’m about to sneeze. Is it something else?” Alma rattled on, excited.

  “I—I’ll tell you later.”

  A Native woman arrived to pack up the tent. Quickly, Mrs. Vasquez gave her some last-minute instructions.

  Mrs. V, Sophie Jacobson, Hetty, and Alma walked with Sarah until she met Uncle Donall and Papa at the bottom of the Golden Stairs. It could—it should—have been a fairy-tale wedding party. Hetty wanted to collapse in the snow and cry.

  Instead, she stepped into line on the Golden Stairs. The minister, Uncle Donall, and Sarah went first, followed by Papa and Mr. Jacobson, then Mrs. Vasquez, Hetty and Alma, and the rest of the Jacobson family. Ahead of the wedding party, on and on up the towering mountain, a stream of people walked, getting smaller and smaller in the distance like a trail of ants. Up, up, up everyone climbed, one step at a time, hardly looking around at the beauty of the mountain. Hetty set her feet firmly on the icy steps, seeing only the boots ahead of her.

  In Hetty’s mind, a memory of the roar of the avalanche played over and over in the bright, crisp mountain air. No, not again, Hetty told herself. Not today. She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply. She had to keep up, she had to keep going. She dared not count, nor think about fifteen hundred steps. She clutched the rope banister to keep from stumbling when her legs ached and felt rubbery.