Rivers of Gold

by Tracie Peterson

  “I never suggested that I expect anything in return, Miss Colton,” Teddy finally managed to say. “I don’t know where you could possibly get such an idea.”

  Miranda put her hand on her hips. “I’m a woman and you’re a man. You’re keeping me in a hotel, in an adjoining room to your own sleeping quarters. You pay for my meals and now you offer to put clothes on my back. What will people think?”

  “Well, I really don’t care what people think. We know what the truth of it is. I don’t think of you as a woman,” Teddy said, suddenly halting, realizing his blunder the minute he’d spoken. Not only was it the wrong thing to say, it was a lie. He was only too aware of Miranda as a woman.

  “You are without a doubt the most insensitive and simpleminded man in all creation,” Miranda proclaimed. “You don’t understand anything unless it grows out of the ground and can be pressed into your books for further study. In fact, I’m beginning to think you are incapable of understanding anything not associated with vegetation. I believe, Mr. Davenport, it very well may be possible that your brain is composed of nothing but mulch and compost. Good day!”

  Abruptly she turned and opened her door without even looking back at him. When she slammed the door behind her, Teddy knew it had been done for his benefit.

  “Mulch? Compost?” He shook his head and pulled the room key from his pants pocket. Women were queer creatures. So temperamental and emotional.

  With a slow shake of his head, Teddy opened the door to his room and stared in stunned amazement. The room, which that morning had been in perfect order, now lay in complete disarray. Books, plants, jars, and clothes were scattered about the room like children’s toys in a messy nursery. Months of work had been destroyed, completely obliterated in this attack on his personal belongings.

  Teddy walked in, not even bothering to close the door. He picked up one of his journals and dusted the flaked pieces of dried Calypso bulbosa—fairy slipper—from the leather cover.

  Who could have done such a thing? He wondered at the destruction, barely able to comprehend the situation. No corner of the room was untouched. The bed had been torn apart, the bedding left to lie on the floor, mattress hanging off on one side.

  Teddy began picking things up without any real thought or order. He was standing there rather dumbly, his arms full of this and that, when Miranda Colton knocked on his open door.

  He looked up to catch her expression of disbelief. “Who did this?” she questioned.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why would they do this?” she asked, stepping into the room.

  “Again, I cannot say.”

  He shook his head and looked back at the disarray. “I had nothing of value here—not in a monetary sense. However, in the sense of work and months of searching—these possessions are invaluable.”

  “I’m so sorry, Teddy.” Miranda’s soft-spoken tone soothed his frayed nerves. “Not only for this, but for the way I acted. I know you were only trying to help me, and I wasn’t very kind. I’m sorry.”

  “No, I’m the one to apologize. You must understand— I’ve not had much experience with the fairer gender. I suppose myself to be rather remiss in dealing with the emotions and even the physical needs of women.” Teddy moved to place the armload of materials on the table.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Miranda asked, coming to stand beside him. “I could help you clean this up.”

  “The work will be extensive. I can’t just tear into it. I’ll have to take it a little at a time. It will be rather painstaking.”

  “I don’t mind. I owe you much.”

  He turned and caught the compassion in her expression. How was it that she could be so sympathetic and concerned, when he had obviously hurt her deeply only moments ago?

  “You owe me nothing. The law of the north is to do unto your neighbor as you would have done to you. The law of God’s Word is to love your neighbor as yourself. I would have wanted someone to help me, had I washed ashore in the same condition.”

  “Yes, but I haven’t acted very grateful. I really would like to help you here. But first, perhaps we should ask to speak with the management. I think the owner should know of this.”

  “He already does,” Teddy replied. “I am he.”

  “You own this hotel? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Teddy shrugged. “It never seemed important. When the rush first came on, I used funds from my parents’ estate and built the nicest place I could.”

  “Well, at least that explains why you had no trouble putting me up,” Miranda said smiling. “You are quite the man of many surprises, Mr. Davenport.”

  He looked away. “I could have done without this surprise.” He thought of her offer and realized that, in the destruction of all that he held dear, he needed her. He needed her comfort, her gentle nature, and her companionship.

  “I will allow you to help, but only if I may pay you a salary.” He held up his hand to ward off any protests. “I will deduct the price of the room if that makes you feel better, but I would have to pay someone—so it might as well be you.”

  “But I would do the job without charge,” Miranda replied, coming to stand in front of him. “Teddy, you’ve already done so much for me.”

  “Then allow me to continue. You have no other alternative, unless you would like to become a saloon dancer or scarlet woman. And while your appearance would definitely put the others to shame, such an occupation would never befit you. Let me pay you to be my assistant. But I will warn you—I’m an absolute bear to work for. The work will be tedious and the hours long. We’ve much to accomplish in order to right this wrong.”

  “Very well, Teddy. I will allow you to furnish my room and board and whatever else you feel fair. In return, however, I will work the same hours you work. So, if you plan to labor into the wee hours of the morning, I’ll be right there at your side.”

  He smiled to himself and bent down to pick up a dried sample of fireweed in order to keep her from seeing his face. The idea of having Miranda at his side was most appealing. He’d grown very accustomed to her company, and though he didn’t understand her emotional outbursts, he was drawn to her presence like no other.

  He straightened and held up the plant. The fuchsia color had faded a bit since he’d picked it for his collection, but it was lovely nevertheless.

  “Do you know what this is?” he asked, holding up the flower.

  Miranda shook her head. “I haven’t a clue.”

  “It’s Epilobium angustifolium, commonly called fireweed or blooming Sally. It’s generally considered to be a nuisance to those who garden. Some even call it a weed.” He twirled the piece in his finger a moment, and then handed it to Miranda. “I’ve collected many of them in my explorations of the land, but I thought this one to be an exceptionally nice example.”

  “It is lovely—weed or no,” Miranda said, taking the flower.

  “I thought so as well.”

  “How shall I preserve it for your work?”

  He nodded toward the table. “We shall gather the samples and lay them out atop the table. As we gather them, I’ll try to categorize them again. It’s not going to be easy.”

  “Well, as you said earlier, there’s no place to go short of mushing out on a dog sled, and since you’ve sold your sled … well, that pretty much means we are here until spring.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” he replied.

  After they had worked in companionable silence for several hours, Miranda felt a gnawing in her stomach and suggested they stop for a bite of supper. “I’m quite famished and I know I could work better on a full stomach.”

  “I suppose it would be best,” Teddy said, pulling off his gold-rimmed glasses. He carefully folded the glasses and put them in his pocket. “I traded the sled for a large quantity of meat, so we’re bound to have a pleasant supper.”

  Miranda stretched, glad for the rest. Her back ached from the constant bending to retrieve pieces of vegetation. How Teddy could
identify each piece and correspond it to a place on the table was beyond Miranda. Most of the plants looked quite the same, especially the leaves.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to freshen up a bit,” Miranda told him. “I won’t be but a minute. I just want to wash up and fix my hair.”

  “Your hair looks lovely,” Teddy said, then instantly appeared embarrassed by his outburst. As if to cover up his mistake, he continued. “I suppose I haven’t told you this before, but the color reminds me of the bark of the mountain maple. The brown species—not the gray.”

  Miranda reached her hand to her hair. “I’m betting a few more years like this one and it will be all gray.”

  “I think not. You’ve many years before that will come about,” Teddy replied.

  “Well, just so long as the mountain maple is of sturdy stock,” Miranda said, moving toward the door. “My people are all from sturdy stock. We are fighters, and I won’t have it said that I resemble anything less than a strong specimen.”

  “Indeed, you are that,” Teddy said, his voice dropping to a husky, barely audible tone.

  Miranda smiled to herself. He wasn’t such an unlikable sort. Just quaint and unique in his compliments. She’d had her hair praised and admired before, but never had anyone compared it to the bark of a tree. Coming from anyone else, it might have seemed insulting. Coming from Thomas Davenport, it almost seemed a term of endearment.

  Part Two

  MARCH 1899

  And he hath put a new song in my mouth,

  even praise unto our God:

  many shall see it, and fear,

  and shall trust in the Lord.

  PSALM 40:3

  —[CHAPTER THIRTEEN]—

  PETER SAT ALONGSIDE his father in the law office of Mathias Hamilton. The news was all good, and Peter knew the blessing had come from God.

  “The judge has agreed that the contract was not issued in a legal manner. The fraudulent manner in which Mr. Paxton conducted his business and the disregard for your son’s legal partnership in the business has rendered the judgment in your favor.”

  Peter breathed a sigh of relief. He had fully planned to leave the month before, but the lawyer had deemed it necessary to keep Peter close at hand. Now, at last, he would be free to go north and find his sister. Already his mind raced with plans.

  “I have also seen to that other matter,” Hamilton continued, addressing Peter. “I have looked over the trust papers given to you by your mother-in-law. Everything is in order.” Peter could scarcely believe the news Myrtle Hawkins had brought him. Paxton had thought he could ruin Hawkins through his bank account, but her husband had been too wise for that. Knowing the ruthlessness of Martin Paxton, Frederick had secured most of his fortune in an irrevocable trust for Grace.

  When Paxton discovered the truth—that Grace was the one who would hold the purse strings—he had forced Frederick into compliance, threatening to share the story of his adulterous affair. Poor Frederick Hawkins had had no choice but to give in. The last thing he wanted to do was alienate the affection of his wife and only child. What Frederick Hawkins had thought would offer his daughter protection from Paxton’s evil schemes was instead the very thing that drove him to pursue her. The trust would be hers upon her twentyfirst birthday, and was the real reason Paxton had pushed for marriage prior to her coming into her majority. He was determined to ruin Hawkins in any way he could, and all because Hawkins had broken Martin’s mother’s heart through their illicit affair.

  Of course, Peter now felt, in the aftermath of knowing the truth of Paxton’s actions, that he could understand—at least in part—what had driven the man. Had anyone tried to dally with his mother, he would have had similar desires to see that person ruined.

  “In light of the information you’ve given me, in regard to your wife’s death,” Hamilton continued, “I shall send a post to the authorities in Canada and see what we can do to receive confirmation. After her death is confirmed, we can proceed on arranging the affairs of the trust.”

  Peter nodded, not wanting to talk about Grace’s death. He didn’t want to deal with any aspect of the situation that would remind him of his loss. Standing, he extended his hand and firmly shook the hand of Mathias Hamilton. “Thank you for your time.”

  Ephraim Colton did likewise and added, “You will see to transferring the company entirely to my son?”

  “The matter is already being tended to,” Hamilton assured them.

  Peter and his father hailed a cab outside the law office and made the journey home. “I know Mother’s spirits will be lifted by this news,” Peter said.

  “Indeed. Although she doesn’t care as much for the business as she does for having the matter resolved and behind us.”

  “She worries about you—about your health.”

  Ephraim sighed and settled back against the leather seat. “I know she does, but in truth, none of us know how much time we have on this earth. We’re here for a short time, the Bible says. We must make every effort to live our lives in a manner pleasing to God and to be a blessing to others for His glory.”

  Peter found his father’s words to be inspiring. “I agree. That’s why I’ll head north at the end of the week. It’s time I found Miranda and brought her home. By the time I arrive in Skagway, it should be close to spring thaw.”

  “I know it would comfort your mother to know what has become of her,” Ephraim agreed. “She has worried incessantly about her all winter. She felt remiss in having encouraged her to go north with Grace, yet …”

  “Give it no other thought,” Peter interjected. “I believe God has had His hand in all of this from the beginning. I didn’t always feel that way, but I most certainly do now. I know God has a plan for my life and a purpose that only I can fulfill. It’s no less for Miranda or you—or Grace.”

  He felt the bittersweet sorrow of her memory come over him. He could almost see her dark brown eyes and smell her sweet fragrance. What was it—apple blossoms and roses?

  His father’s touch brought his senses back to the present. “Son, I know your heart is heavy. I loved her, too, you know.” Peter met his father’s gaze. “I know.”

  “We are better for having had her in our lives. But let us not lessen that experience by focusing on the pain. Grace would never want us to live in a manner that would suggest that God is anything other than just and loving. She would want us to move forward in love for each other and for the God she so dearly loved.”

  “I know you’re right, but sometimes it’s just so hard.” He paused. “I reach for her in the night and she’s not there. I think I hear her come into the room and turn to find that it’s only the wind.”

  Ephraim nodded. “It’s not easy, but in time the pain will lessen.”

  “I’d like to believe that,” Peter said, “but I doubt it could possibly be true. Still, I’m willing to leave it in God’s hands. After all, there are few other choices.”

  “Especially choices that would honor Grace’s memory and be in keeping with God’s desire for your life.”

  The cab stopped in front of their townhouse, interrupting the moment. Peter paid the driver, and then helped his father from the steps. He looked up at the house, noting that it no longer felt like a home to him. Leaving San Francisco seemed the only hope of maintaining his sanity. He’d been happy here with Grace, despite the arguments and the painful words between them. Words he’d spoken in anger. Words that had driven her away.

  “Come on, son. Let’s tell your mother the good news.”

  Ephraim headed up the steps of the walkway, and reluctantly Peter followed.

  Peter lightly fingered the pink silk gown that he’d given Grace shortly after their marriage. She had looked radiant in the dress, but then, she’d looked radiant in most anything she wore. Caressing the gown to his face, he breathed in her perfume—now faded and barely distinguishable.

  “Oh, Grace. Why did I have to wait until it was too late to know what I had in you?”

&n
bsp; “Peter?” Myrtle called from behind the closed bedroom door.

  Putting the dress aside, Peter went to the door. Opening it, he found his mother-in-law looking rather expectant. “Yes, Myrtle?”

  “I wondered if we might have a moment to speak together. I don’t want to take you away from anything important.”

  “No, that’s all right. I wasn’t doing anything that can’t wait until later. What did you want to talk to me about?” He stepped back to allow her to enter the room.

  Myrtle walked past him, then turned and smiled. “Peter, your mother tells me that you’re heading north by the end of the week.”

  “Yes, that’s correct.” He motioned to a chair. “Won’t you sit down?”

  Myrtle nodded and took a seat. Her black gown, a constant reminder of her widowhood and Grace’s death, swished in gentle whispers as she straightened her skirts. Peter pulled up another chair from the opposite side of the room and sat down across from Myrtle.

  “I figure to leave by Friday. I want to be north as soon as possible and find my sister.”

  “I pray God will grant you His favor in your search. I plan to leave by the end of the week, myself. I wondered if you would be so kind as to escort me to the train station on the day after tomorrow.”

  “I would be happy to do that,” Peter replied. He had a hard time looking at Myrtle, especially at her eyes. She reminded him so much of Grace that it hurt. He had to look away.

  “Do you suppose you will learn anything more of Grace?” Her question pierced his heart. “I don’t know. I don’t expect to be shown a grave or anything like that. I don’t imagine they would be able to … to …” He couldn’t say the words.

  Myrtle nodded. “No, I don’t imagine they would have recovered her body.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked down. “I just wondered if you thought there might be some further word on her. Maybe Miss Pierce would be able to share something more.”