Rivers of Gold

by Tracie Peterson

  Rivers of Gold

  Copyright © 2002

  Tracie Peterson

  Cover design by Jenny Parker

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN 978-0-7642-2380-8

  * * *

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Peterson, Tracie.

  Rivers of gold / by Tracie Peterson.

  p. cm. — (Yukon quest ; 3)

  ISBN 0-7642-2380-1 (pbk.)

  1. Survival after airplane accidents, shipwrecks, etc.—Fiction. 2. Women pioneers—Fiction. 3. Botanists—Fiction. 4. Alaska—Fiction I. Title.

  PS3566.E7717 R58 2002

  813’.54—dc21 2001005674

  * * *

  With special thanks to

  Cheryl Thompson,

  Administrative Assistant,

  Dawson City Museum.

  BOOKS by TRACIE PETERSON

  www.traciepeterson.com

  A Slender Thread • I Can’t Do It All!**

  What She Left for Me • Where My Heart Belongs

  ALASKAN QUEST

  Summer of the Midnight Sun

  Under the Northern Lights • Whispers of Winter

  THE BRIDES OF GALLATIN COUNTY

  A Promise to Believe In

  THE BROADMOOR LEGACY*

  A Daughter’s Inheritance • An Unexpected Love

  BELLS OF LOWELL*

  Daughter of the Loom • A Fragile Design

  These Tangled Threads

  Bells of Lowell (3 in 1)

  LIGHTS OF LOWELL*

  A Tapestry of Hope • A Love Woven True

  The Pattern of Her Heart

  DESERT ROSES

  Shadows of the Canyon • Across the Years

  Beneath a Harvest Sky

  HEIRS OF MONTANA

  Land of My Heart • The Coming Storm

  To Dream Anew • The Hope Within

  LADIES OF LIBERTY

  A Lady of High Regard • A Lady of Hidden Intent

  A Lady of Secret Devotion

  WESTWARD CHRONICLES

  A Shelter of Hope • Hidden in a Whisper

  A Veiled Reflection

  YUKON QUEST

  Treasures of the North • Ashes and Ice

  Rivers of Gold

  *with Judith Miller **with Allison Bottke and Dianne O’Brian

  TRACIE PETERSON is a popular speaker and bestselling author who has written over fifty books, both historical and contemporary fiction. Tracie and her family make their home in Montana.

  Visit Tracie’s Web site at: www.traciepeterson.com.

  Contents

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  Part One

  OCTOBER 1898

  It is of the Lord’s mercies

  that we are not consumed, because his

  compassions fail not.

  LAMENTATIONS 3:22

  —[CHAPTER ONE]—

  MIRANDA COLTON floated in a sea of warmth, the sensation unlike any she had ever known. Maybe I’ve died, she thought. Maybe I’ve died and this is heaven. She attempted to open her eyes to confirm her thoughts, but her eyelids were too heavy.

  Drifting in and out of a hazy sleep, Miranda knew nothing but the comfort and assurance that all was well. There was no sense of panic. No fear of the unknown. Her spirit rested in complete peace.

  In her dreams, she saw herself as a young child, happily playing in fields of flowers, the mist of the ocean upon her skin, the salty taste upon her lips. She lifted her face to the sun and felt the delicious warmth engulf her. She would like to stay here forever. Safe and warm. Happily contented among the green grasses and colorful flowers. At times, a delicate aroma wafted through the air, delighting her further with the luscious scent of roses, honeysuckle, and lilacs.

  Then voices called to her. Miranda didn’t recognize the language, but somehow she knew the words were being spoken to her. She struggled to listen—to understand. With great difficulty she opened her eyes and stared into the brown, well-worn face of an old woman.

  Miranda felt no sense of recollection at the sight of the serious countenance before her. The woman was clearly a stranger, yet she seemed so concerned, so gentle. A momentary tremble of fear seized Miranda’s heart, but the woman’s tender touch made her realize the old woman was no threat to her well-being.

  “You wake up now,” the woman said in a thick, almost guttural tongue.

  Miranda opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. Her mouth felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. Closing her eyes, she heard the woman call to her again.

  “No sleep. You make too much sleep.

  You wake up now.” The command did little good. Miranda had no energy for the task.

  She felt the woman swab her face with a cool cloth. The woman gently urged, “You wake up. You no die.”

  Die? Miranda wondered at the word as she listened to the woman chatter on. Wasn’t she already dead? She couldn’t remember what had happened to her, but she was certain that it had been a very difficult journey. It didn’t startle her to think of dying or even of being dead. She merely wondered why she couldn’t wake up. Weren’t you supposed to see pearly gates and hosts of angels after death? Nowhere in her church upbringing could she remember anything about brown-faced women escorting a person to their reward.

  The woman forced water into Miranda’s mouth. The cold liquid felt marvelous as it trickled down her throat, dissolving the cotton taste. How very pleasant, Miranda thought.

  “How is she?” a masculine voice questioned in a decidedly English accent.

  Miranda started to open her eyes, certain that she was about to meet God. Funny, she had never thought of him as an Englishman. She hesitated a moment. Didn’t the Bible say that you would die if you saw God’s face?

  Then it came to her. If this is God, then I’m already dead and it won’t matter. She opened her eyes, prepared to meet her maker. Instead, she met the compassionate gaze of dark brown eyes. The man had a gentleness about him as he leaned over her to touch her forehead.

  “I say, seems the fever is gone. You’ll soon be right as rain.” His dark
brown mustache twitched ever so slightly as he offered her a smile.

  “What?” Miranda barely croaked the word out.

  The man patted her on the head as if she were a small child. “Nellie will fix you right up. You’ll see. She’s quite gifted in the ways of healing.”

  Miranda wanted to question the man but had no energy to do so. She watched in silence as he turned to the woman. His alabaster skin was quite the contrast to the older woman’s native complexion. His dark hair had a haphazard lay to it. Perhaps he had just awakened, or perhaps he wasn’t given to worrying over appearances.

  “I’ve prepared the herbs you asked for, Nellie. That should help considerably. Shall I put a pot of water on to boil?”

  The old woman nodded and followed the man. Miranda wanted to call out to them and beg them not to leave her, but again her voice failed her. She tried to remember what had happened to her. How did I get here? But even as she worked at the foggy memories, Miranda knew only one thing for certain. This wasn’t heaven—she wasn’t dead.

  Thomas Edward Davenport, Teddy to his friends, turned from the ancient Indian woman and went back to his worktable. He had hoped to have a better showing for a summer’s worth of work, but after categorizing the plants and herbs he’d gathered, Teddy was rather disappointed. He would spend the winter recording and cataloging his finds for the botanical research book he intended to produce. This was his life’s work—work that had brought him to the vast regions of the Canadian provinces. Leaving his beloved England behind had been a difficult task, but after the death of his mother, Teddy had no real reason to remain. His father had died years before, succumbing to a terrible round of influenza. And while English soil might hold the bodies of his dearly departed parents, Teddy knew their souls were safely in heaven with God.

  He glanced across the cabin room and watched Nellie spooning tea into the young woman’s mouth. Teddy couldn’t help but wonder about the woman. Local natives had brought the half-drowned creature to his door, knowing Nellie had a gift for healing. Teddy could hardly turn the unconscious woman away, but the interruption was most unwelcome. He had no time for diversions. His work would suffer—had already suffered—because of this stranger’s arrival.

  Teddy toyed with a bit of dried alpine geranium. Who is she? he wondered. No doubt she was one of the thousands who had come north with their hearts set on gold. So many parties had been lost upon the wild and reckless waters of the Yukon. The shores along the lakes and rivers were littered with the sad reminders of the invasion from the south. Teddy wished with all his heart that the strangers would all return to wherever they had come from. In the five years he’d been at work in the Yukon, he’d known a tranquil and graceful land. That tranquility, however, was greatly diminished in the wake of the Klondike gold rush.

  “She sleep again, but not so long, I think,” Nellie said, coming to the table where Teddy worked only halfheartedly. “I think she much better.”

  Teddy nodded. “Yes, I believe you are right.”

  “I make you supper,” Nellie said and walked back to the stove without another word.

  Teddy required the old woman’s presence, because without her he simply lost track of time and forgot to eat or sometimes to sleep. His work consumed him. It was a thing of great interest and passion, but it was also a challenge that he could not seem to shake. His father had always loved plant life and his desire to come to North America for the research of Canadian vegetation was a dream Teddy intended to see through to fruition. It was a sort of legacy Teddy would leave in honor of his father.

  Albert Davenport had been very much a dreamer. Teddy’s mother had found his love of plants annoying, for it had taken them from her beloved estate outside of London and plunged them into the heart of Cornwall. Eugenia Davenport would endure her husband’s sojourns to the country for a time, but then, after no more than a month, she would announce her return to London. Declaring she would simply perish from the isolation of the country, Eugenia cut everyone’s stay short, for her husband was not inclined to remain in the country without her.

  Teddy had adored his mother, for she was a loving parent, but he’d also resented the pain she caused his father. Albert’s dreams were unimportant to her, but not to Teddy. He had vowed to his father, even as he lay dying, that he would see to fruition his father’s dream of creating a great book of botanical study on the Canadian landscape. That vow had become a driving force in Teddy’s life, and he was bound and determined to see it through.

  Perhaps that was why the presence of this woman bothered him so greatly. He didn’t want this stranger to become a deterrent to his work, as his mother had been to his father.

  Teddy glanced back across the room to where the young woman slept. She had been in his cabin for over three weeks. Off and on she would awaken and then fall back to sleep. Nellie said her lungs had been full of lake water, and at first, the old woman hadn’t believed the stranger would live. Teddy had prayed for the injured woman, knowing that there were some things only God could heal. Within a fortnight, Nellie announced her belief that the woman would recover. It would take time for a full recovery, however. Time Teddy wasn’t entirely sure he could offer.

  It was already October and the snows had set in. Normally he would already be heading back to his hotel room in Dawson. But he could hardly pick up and leave this complication. The woman couldn’t be left behind—but neither could she be moved.

  Teddy pushed up his sleeves and leaned forward on the table. What was he to do? The woman needed him. She was helpless, and although Nellie felt confident of her recovery, Teddy couldn’t help but wonder what he was to do with her once she regained her health.

  A knock on the cabin door brought Teddy out of his thoughts. What new interruption awaited him? Nellie padded across the room, a slight limp noticeable as she walked. He had once asked her about the limp and she’d told him a horrific tale of having been caught in a trap when she’d been young. The incident had left her both scarred and crippled. Teddy offered her his condolences, and Nellie had merely shrugged, saying, “It not your trap did this.”

  Nellie opened the door and stood back to look at Teddy. Teddy didn’t recognize the man at the door. The stranger pushed back his fur parka and brushed crusty ice from his beard.

  “I wonder if I might warm up for a spell,” the man questioned.

  Teddy nodded. “Come in. I’m about to take supper.”

  “I’m much obliged,” the man said. “The name’s Buckley. J. D. Buckley.”

  “Thomas Davenport,” Teddy replied. Nellie closed the door behind the man and waited to take his coat. “Feel free to warm up at the stove or the fireplace,” Teddy added.

  “It’s not too bad out there today,” Buckley stated. “I’ve seen worse, but I’m glad to be inside for a spell.”

  Teddy nodded. He didn’t usually get visitors and that was the way he liked it. Though centrally located for his work, his cabin was well off the beaten path. There had been an increase in traffic since the gold rush pandemonium, but his area hadn’t yielded much in the way of profitable dust. For this, he was most grateful.

  “If I might ask,” Teddy began, “how did you find yourself in this part of the country?”

  The man rubbed his hands together. “Well, to tell you the truth, I got lost. I ain’t been up in these parts long, and I guess I took a wrong turn. I was following the Yukon River, then moved inland for a ways in order to follow an easier path. I thought I’d stayed with the Yukon, but now I see I didn’t.”

  “You most likely took the fork for the Indian River. It runs off the Yukon, and if you walk too far inland and aren’t familiar with the lay of the land, it’s easy enough to get waylaid. Especially as you fork off from the Indian River and follow some of the lesser creeks and streams, which surely you must have done to wind up here.”

  “Can you point me in the direction of Dawson?”

  “That I can, but the hour is much too late to travel.” Teddy knew, regrettabl
y, that he had no choice but to offer the man lodging. It was a sort of code in the north. You dealt kindly with strangers, otherwise it could cost someone their life. Especially when the weather turned cold and unforgiving. “You’re welcome to lay your blanket by the stove. I can’t offer you much in the way of privacy or space, but it will be considerably warmer than a tent in the woods.”

  “That’s mighty kind of you, Mr. Davenport.”

  “Think nothing of it.”

  Nellie dished up a thick elk stew and placed the wooden bowls on the table. “You eat now.”

  Teddy pushed his work aside and motioned to the man. “Please pardon my poor manners. Pull up a chair and join me. Nellie will bring us tea and biscuits as well.”

  “Sounds good. I’m afraid I ain’t had a hot meal in some time.”

  Teddy frowned. “Have you been lost all that long?”

  The man took out a handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. Bits of ice loosened from his mustache and beard, seeming to soften the stranger’s appearance. “I ain’t been lost all that time, but to tell the truth, my partners and me had a falling out. I got the sled and a few other supplies, but not much in the way of food.”

  “Have you dogs for the sled?”

  The man laughed. “Nope, been pulling the heavy thing myself. My partners kept the dogs, knowing they’d fetch a good price in Dawson. Fact is, I really have no need for the sled. You wouldn’t be of a mind to trade me for some food, now, would you?”

  Teddy rubbed his chin. The stubble reminded him he’d not shaved that morning. “I just might be able to help you out. I have a guest staying with me who is quite weak. It might be a good thing to have a sled to carry her in when I make my way to Dawson.”

  “I’d surely be obliged.”

  “Then consider it a deal. We’ll arrange a pack for you and load it with a variety of food. I’ll be closing out the cabin and heading to Dawson myself as soon as my guest can travel, so I’ll give you what I can.”

  The man nodded and dug into the stew without another word. Teddy cleared his throat and asked, “Do you mind if I offer up thanks?”

  The man looked rather sheepish and put down his spoon. “Like I said, I ain’t ate a hot meal in a while. Weren’t no disrespect intended to the Almighty.”