Rivers of Gold

by Tracie Peterson

  “He just started doing this,” Grace said, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, Karen, help me. Help him!”

  By this time, Gump and Jacob were up and watching. Finally, Andy’s body stilled just as suddenly as the spasms had begun. Grace looked to her son and lifted him in her arms. “He’s still breathing,” she sobbed.

  Karen went forward and gently took the baby from her friend. “Adrik, we must get him to a doctor.”

  “I agree. I’ll get the dogs hitched to the ore cart. We’ll use it to pack Grace and the baby in. It won’t be a fast journey, but they certainly can’t walk all the way.”

  “I want to come with you,” Karen said, wrapping the baby in a towel.

  “Me too!” Leah declared.

  Adrik nodded. “Jacob, you and Gump stay here and don’t worry about mining. Just keep an eye on things. I’ll take them down to Gold Bottom. That’s less than two miles. There’s a doc who shares a claim with his brother. He ought to be able to help us.”

  But the doctor had already returned to Dawson, the brother told them when they arrived some time later. They were encouraged to travel on toward Dawson with the possibility of another doctor who had come north for gold, taking up residency somewhere to the west of Last Chance Creek.

  Karen knew the distance was considerable, but there was really no other choice. Adrik pushed out, urging the dogs to pick up the pace. By the time they reached Last Chance, more than ten miles away, Karen was completely spent. She knew they’d have to rest for a time and was relieved when Adrik suggested the same.

  Andy’s fever remained high and he refused all attempts by Grace to nurse him. His lethargic state terrified the group. There was no sense to it.

  Once the dogs had rested a few hours, Adrik woke Karen and Leah and told them they’d have to push on. Grace felt bad for being the only one to ride in the cart with Andy.

  “There isn’t room for all of us,” Karen said, trying to reassure her, “and you need to keep Andy quiet. You’ll also need your strength to deal with his illness.”

  “Karen, will you please pray?”

  Karen nodded and smiled. “I already am.”

  They seemed to travel forever, but without a doctor to be found along the claims on Hunker Creek, they had no choice but to head on to the Klondike River and Dawson. The minutes seemed to drag by, and Karen thought she might very well collapse from the pace they kept. Adrik and the dogs seemed hardly winded, but Leah wasn’t doing well. Finally Karen suggested that there might be enough room for Leah to sit with Grace in the cart, if both ladies swung their legs out over the sides. It was a rather improper display, but it worked and the proprieties were forgotten.

  Karen tried to focus on praying while she walked and jogged to keep up with the cart. The path was impossible in some places, with mud and debris left behind after the swollen creeks had receded back to their banks. In other places, the path was well-worn and fairly easy to navigate, but Karen was getting more tired by the minute.

  As they drew nearer civilization—although she used that term quite loosely—Karen was saddened by the state of the land. The once lush forests, full of pines and spruce and floored with thick vegetation, had been stripped of its glory. Denuded land was a stark reminder that gold came at a high price.

  The natives of the area had been pushed out and away from the wealth of the rivers of gold. Karen felt bad for the way she’d seen the local natives treated. It was the same for the Tlingit and other tribes. The stampeders had come with a hunger for that which had never belonged to them. It didn’t matter that a native had found the gold in the first place—it only mattered that others could come and take it away.

  Karen knew her father would have hated the changes in the land. He would have mourned the passing of the beauty and would have been enraged at the treatment of the Indian people. He had loved his Tlingit brothers and sisters—had given his life in service to them. He wouldn’t be pleased that Karen was a part of this maddening rush.

  She wasn’t pleased with herself. Seeing how people acted around her—how they fought each other for a slice of bread, how they murdered and stole from one another, all in order to have a little bit more than their neighbor. It was a sickness, a fever—every bit as deadly as Andy’s.

  God forgive us, Karen prayed. She knew her husband was considering what they should do for their future, but she was already coming to some of her own conclusions. She’d speak to Adrik as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

  They arrived in Dawson in the late afternoon of the second day. Adrik quickly guided the team to the hospital. Karen was amazed at how dead the town seemed. There had once been people overflowing the streets and businesses, but things appeared oddly calm now. Only a few dozen souls ventured out as the group made their way through the town.

  Adrik helped Grace from the cart, leaving Karen and Leah to see to each other. Karen didn’t mind. She knew her husband was far more concerned for the deathly-ill baby. Karen and Leah joined hands as they followed Adrik and Grace into the hospital.

  “Do you think he’ll die?” Leah asked. Her tone suggested that she was near to tears.

  “It’s in God’s hands,” Karen said softly. “We’ve certainly done everything possible by bringing him here.”

  “What if the doctors can’t help him?”

  “I don’t know,” Karen said sadly. She knew Grace’s entire life was caught up in that little boy. If he were to die, Grace would most likely follow him into the grave, a victim of a broken heart.

  “He can’t die, Karen. He just can’t.” Leah broke into sobs and buried her face against Karen.

  Karen didn’t know what to say to the child, for she felt the same way. Andrew had to live. He had to live so that Grace would have the strength to go on. He had to live so that Peter would come to them and take his family to the safety of their home far away. And that was really what Karen wanted for Grace, in spite of the pain it brought to think of being separated, perhaps forever.

  The doctor refused to let anyone accompany Andy, save Grace. He directed the rest of the group to wait outside. Adrik appeared ready to argue with him, but Karen gently touched his arm and smiled.

  “We can spend the time in prayer,” she suggested.

  And they did just that, waiting for hours on end to hear from the doctor as to what was wrong with the tiny boy. As time passed, Karen despaired of the news being good and finally excused herself from the group.

  “I need to be alone for a few minutes. I shouldn’t be long,” she told Adrik. Walking out into the evening air, Karen marveled at the crisp, sweet scent—so different from the smells that permeated the hospital.

  For several minutes she walked down the road, not at all certain where she was headed. She really had no place in particular to go, but she wanted to be away from the hospital so that she could clear her head.

  “Father, we need a miracle,” she prayed in a whisper. “Please heal Andy and give Grace the strength she needs to endure.”

  Mindless of her aching feet and sore muscles, Karen continued her walking prayer time. She had just about decided to head back to the hospital, when she spotted a woman who looked remarkably like Miranda Colton. From the distance Karen wasn’t at all certain that it was Miranda, so she picked up her pace. A surge of hope coursed through her. Perhaps Miranda hadn’t died.

  Unable to keep up the rapid speed, Karen called out. “Miranda!”

  The woman turned instantly, and then it was clear. It was Miranda! Karen hurried forward, calling her name again. “Miranda! Oh, it is you!”

  Miranda put her hand to her mouth and looked as though she’d been robbed of her air.

  Karen reached her and embraced her hard. “Oh, we thought you were dead.”

  “Is it really you?” Miranda asked softly. “I’ve looked so long and hard for you.”

  Karen pulled back and saw the tears in Miranda’s eyes. “It’s me. It’s really me.”

  “We’ve been searching for you. We j
ust now came back to town to gather supplies and were planning to head out again tomorrow,” Miranda replied. “Did you see the flyer? Is that how you found me?”

  “What flyer?” Karen questioned. “We, too, just arrived in town. Oh, Miranda, you don’t know the situation at all. There’s a problem. Grace needs you now, more than ever. She had her baby. It’s a little boy and his name is Andrew.”

  “I know. I met up with Dr. Brummel. He apparently let her stay on with him for a time.”

  Karen nodded. “Yes. Yes, he did. Well, Andy is sick. He’s at the hospital right now. You must come and help Grace stay strong. Oh, she’ll be so happy to see you.”

  “But wait, we can’t go without Peter,” Miranda said, surprising Karen with her matter-of-fact statement.

  “Peter is here?”

  “Yes. He’s been searching for Grace for months. He was beginning to think he’d never find them.”

  “So he knows about the baby?” Karen questioned.

  “Yes. He knows. Come with me. I’ll take you to him.”

  “Vell, I suggest five-hour shifts,” Gump said as Jacob prepared to go out on watch.

  “Five hours?”

  “Ja, that would be enough time to sleep a bit and then be up to keep vatch.”

  Jacob nodded. “I think you’re right. I’ll wake you in five hours, then.” He headed for the door, then realized he’d forgotten his rifle. “I guess it won’t do me much good to go out on guard duty without a weapon.”

  “Ja, you might need it.”

  A knock sounded at the door. Gump and Jacob exchanged looks.

  “Who could that be?” Jacob questioned. “You don’t suppose they’re back already.”

  “Nah, they vould just come in,” Gump replied, moving to the door.

  Jacob turned back to take up his gun as the urgent knock sounded again. Without picking up his rifle, he turned to see who it was as Gump opened the door.

  In the blink of an eye, a gun fired straight into Gump’s chest, sending the old man staggering backward. Jacob forgot what he was doing and rushed for the smoking barrel that was still stuck inside the door. The stranger cocked the rifle to fire again.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Jacob cried out, grabbing the barrel.

  Cec Blackabee was pulled into the cabin by the action. The shock of his appearance caused Jacob to hesitate for just a moment. It was a moment that gave Cec the edge. Pushing Jacob backward, Cec tried to free his rifle from Jacob’s hold. It did no good, however. Jacob wasn’t about to let Cec have the upper hand.

  The wiry man threw his weight onto Jacob, wrestling him to the ground, the gun wedged neatly between them.

  “I figured if money wouldn’t bring you over to my way of thinkin’,” Cec growled as they fought, “fear might. I’d just as soon blow off your head as to look at you.”

  “You’ll have to kill me before I’ll let you get away with this,” Jacob spat, pushing Cec off of him. Still holding on to the rifle, Jacob struggled to his feet, careful to keep the barrel pointed away from him.

  The gun exploded again, the bullet narrowly missing Jacob’s face. “I don’t mind killin’ you, boy. You’ve been nothin’ but trouble to me. I ain’t had much luck since I found you half drowned.” Cec pushed Jacob off balance and struggled to cock the rifle one more time. Lowering the gun directly at Jacob, Cec smiled maliciously. “You ain’t got a prayer, boy.”

  Before Cec could squeeze the trigger, Jacob heard someone yell.

  “It’s the Lindquist cabin!”

  Cec turned his head just a bit, as if to ascertain where the voices were coming from. Jacob let his rage direct him. He flew across the distance to Cec and fought with all his might to wrench the gun from his hand.

  Another shot fired, and by this time they could hear voices growing louder. Cec dropped his hold on the gun and darted through the smoky room and out the door before Jacob could stop him. Standing there, the rifle in his hand, Jacob stared dumbly at the door, then turned to where Gump lay bleeding on the floor.

  “Hold it right there!” a man’s deep voice called out.

  “Somebody grab him, he’s killed the old man!” another man yelled.

  Jacob turned just as two men grabbed hold of him, while a third firmly planted his fist in Jacob’s face.

  “Ride for the Mounties,” one of the men commanded. “This boy just killed the old man.”

  “No doubt for his gold,” someone muttered.

  “No!” Jacob tried to yell, but the word came out very softly. “I didn’t do it. There was someone else.”

  “I don’t see no one else,” the man replied. “Just you and the gun and the dead body. That’s enough proof for me.”

  —[CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE]—

  GRACE COLTON SAT BESIDE the bed of her desperately ill son. She could find no reason in her mind or heart for why God would allow such a horrible thing to happen. Andy looked so small, so pale.

  She touched him gently, stroking his cheek, so downy soft. She wondered how any mother ever found the strength to say good-bye to her child. Grace thought of her own mother and the boy she had lost. Grace had grown up without siblings—rather lonely and isolated. Her mother would rarely talk about her firstborn son, and Grace never really knew much about him, other than the devastating effect of his death.

  He can’t die, Lord, she prayed. I can’t bear the thought of losing him. He’s my baby—my son. I’ve seen so much death and destruction—sorrow and pain. I just can’t bear to see anymore. She crumbled to her knees. Please, God, hear my prayer. Please spare the life of my child.

  Grace sobbed into her hands. Don’t leave me here alone, God. Please don’t leave me here alone.

  Someone touched her shoulder. At first Grace thought it was the doctor. Using the back of her sleeve, she dried her eyes and tried hard to square her shoulders. Getting to her feet with the man’s help, Grace turned, only to realize the man was her husband.

  “Peter.” She spoke the name almost reverently. “Oh, Peter.”

  It had been well over a year since she’d seen him, but the time instantly fell away with the look of love in his expression. Grace thought perhaps it was a dream, or that she had gone mad, but either way, so long as he was there at her side, she didn’t care.

  She collapsed in his arms and buried her face against the once familiar chest. He smelled of fresh lye soap and hair tonic. As he tightened his hold on her, Grace thought she heard him draw a ragged breath. She pulled back just enough to see that he, too, was crying.

  “I thought you were dead,” he said.

  Grace reached up her hand to touch his face. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because the letter that came from the Mounted Police said it was you and not Miranda who fell overboard on Lake Laberge.”

  Grace shook her head. “How could that be?”

  “I don’t know, but I thank God you are safe and alive. You have no idea the hours I mourned your passing. The hours I pleaded with God for your return are too numerous to count. And now, here you are.”

  “It must have been a terrible shock to learn of Miranda,” she said softly. She stroked his jaw, feeling the stubble of beard beneath her fingers. He looked so much older—he looked exhausted and spent. She feared he might even be sick. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

  “She’s alive, Grace. There’s no other way to tell you than to just come out with it. She’s down the hall speaking with Karen at this very moment.”

  Grace let go of her husband, her voice catching in her throat. “She … she …”

  Peter nodded, holding on to her shoulders. “She’s alive. Apparently she washed up on the shore, and Indians found her. She was treated and cared for by an Englishman and his housekeeper. Her health was restored, and she came here to look for you and the others.”

  “I can’t believe it. Oh, Peter, I think I need to sit down.” Grace felt her vision blur and her head grow light. “I think I might very well faint.”

 
Peter led her to a chair, but then instead of having her sit on it, he sat down himself and pulled her onto his lap. Cradling her there like a child, he held her tight. “You’re as thin as a rail,” he whispered, and then added, “I can’t believe you’re here and alive. I think of how things might have been—but I pushed it away, all because of my stubborn refusal to yield to God what was rightfully His.”

  Grace tried to clear her mind, but whenever she lifted her head the dizziness returned. She wanted to ask Peter a million questions but instead remained quiet. Perhaps this wasn’t the time or place. For now, she could just be grateful he had come to her.

  As if knowing what she needed to hear, however, Peter continued. “I cannot say the way was easy. Paxton continued to hound and plague me. I feared him more than I feared God or anyone else. He seemed to have a power to destroy my hope.”

  Grace nodded with a shudder, knowing only too well how Martin Paxton could be. She hoped she would never see the man again.

  “In the course of my journey, God put me together with a great man named Jonas Campbell. Jonas helped me to see and understand what you’d been trying to tell me.”

  Grace raised up and looked at her husband. A flicker of hope warmed her heart as she met his loving gaze. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I’m sorry for the pain and misery I caused you—caused us. I’m saying I was wrong and that I hurt so many people because of that wrong attitude. I’m begging you to forgive me and take me back, because frankly, I don’t know how to go on living without you.” He paused and Grace thought he had never looked so handsome as he did in this vulnerable, apologetic state. “And I’m saying that I learned the truth of God for myself and gave my heart over to Christ.”

  “Oh, Peter,” Grace whispered. She touched his face very gently and wiped away the tears that streamed down his cheeks. “God is so good. So faithful.”

  “Then you’ll forgive me? Forgive me for all the ugly words, for the way I treated you?”

  “I forgave you the moment they caused me pain. I love you, Peter. That didn’t die in the wake of the battle, it was only bruised a bit.”