His wife and child. She stopped, looked up. Their gazes locked in perfect understanding.
“Guilt is a heavy load to bear, Viola.” He lifted his hand and touched her arm. “Please don’t carry that burden on my account.”
The gentleness in his voice and his touch swelled her heart and her throat. She couldn’t speak. Didn’t dare try. The golden flecks in his eyes darkened. His fingers twitched, tightened. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Her breath fused to her lungs, refused to release. He sucked in air, jerked his hand from her arm and stepped back.
“Shall we continue on?”
Her breath expelled. She nodded, drew on her experience and arranged her features in her old mask of detachment. But this time it was not to hide her fear or pain. This time it was to hide her heart. It seemed to crack a little more with every step they took.
They turned right at the corner and walked toward the harbor, no longer alone but moving through an ever thickening throng of townspeople and stampeders. Whyn’t you take that snood off and let them pretty, eye-catchin’ red curls of yours show? She reached up and touched her hair to make sure the snood was in place. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention. If any of her old customers at Dengler’s decided to try their luck at finding gold, and recognized her while passing through Treasure Creek to reach the Chilkoot Trail… She cringed at the thought of meeting one of them while in Thomas’s company.
A lady like you. Thomas’s good opinion of her would quickly change if he knew the truth. As would the opinions of those in Treasure Creek who had befriended her in spite of her standoffish attitude. Tears clogged her throat. She wanted so much to draw close to them all, to be a true friend to them, but friendship meant questions and confidences that she dare not invite.
Guilt, sorrow and regret formed a heavy weight in her chest, pressed down on her already aching heart. She did not truly belong with these good people. Certainly not with a man of faith and integrity like Thomas. She could only live on the fringe of their friendship, returning what help and service to them she could in exchange. She blinked the film of moisture from her eyes and stole a sidelong look at Thomas from beneath her lowered lashes. Perhaps she could help him with his missionary work in some way. Perhaps that would help atone for her past.
They passed in front of the newly built school and the sound of hammering from the other side of the street grabbed her attention, pulled her from her burdensome thoughts. She looked over at the church, no longer the small, log building it had been when she arrived, but beautiful now, with the new large sanctuary and white clapboard siding and new stained glass windows.
A deep, rumbling chuckle broke from Thomas. She glanced at him.
“Look on the roof.”
She looked up, gasped. On the roof of the original church building, now the entrance to the new, large sanctuary, stood Ed Parker, astraddle the peak, his huge hands clamped on the side rails of a ladder leaning against the steeple tower under construction. On the rung just above the level of his hands was a pair of small, booted feet, the hems of a divided, kersey wool skirt tucked into their tops. Frankie! She jerked her gaze up over the leather belt jammed with various tools, skimmed it over the blue cotton shirt that enhanced instead of hid Frankie’s shapely form and stared at the freckled face beneath the mass of short, windblown black curls. There was no unhappiness there today.
“Hey, Viola. Preacher Stone.”
“Don’t wave, Frankie!” Viola closed her eyes, pressed her hand against her abdomen, fought down a surge of nausea.
“She’s safe, Viola.”
She nodded, kept her gaze glued to the ground and hurried down the road.
“Whoa! Wait a minute.” Thomas’s hand gripped her elbow, gently pulled her to a stop. “You’re trembling. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just…if she fell…” She shuddered, tried to close out the image of Sally’s broken body after a drunken customer had thrown her out of a third-story window. So many horrible, horrible memories.
“Viola…”
She looked up, found him studying her.
“Something is wrong. If I can help…”
The warmth, the caring was back in his voice and eyes. She reached down beyond the dark place inside her and dredged up a smile. “I’m fine. I just can’t bear to see people…hurt.” She took a breath, continued walking. The low stone wall that enclosed the hotel grounds appeared on the right. He would be leaving her here and going on to the boardinghouse. Her heart cracked a little more. “Before you go, Thomas, I wanted to ask you…” She stopped by one of the stone pillars that anchored the wall and guarded the hotel entrance. “I don’t have many skills beyond my sewing. I do read well. And I have a little nursing ability.” She tried to smile, felt her lips start to tremble and let it die. “What I am trying to say is, if there is any way I could be of service, I would be honored to help you in your work with the Tlingits. You have only to ask.”
She forced her lips into a polite smile. “Goodbye, Thomas. Thank you again for saving Goldie. Be sure and take care of your shoulder.” She spun about and hurried up the stone walk to the hotel, focusing her thoughts on the job she had to do to keep herself from weeping.
Thomas stepped out onto the porch, frowned and stuffed the end of the free-hanging sleeve of the jacket he’d bought at Tanner’s into the pocket. The flopping was an annoying reminder of his impairment.
Stampeders swarmed the waterfront, their voices melding into a constant hum. He scanned the area, shook his head over the endless piles of boxes and crates, the stacks of different size burlap bags, the loaded barrows and tents and bedding rolls. He was used to the peace and quiet of his hut beside the Chilkoot Trail, and of Viola’s cabin nestled close to the mountains at the far edge of town. He missed… No. He would not travel down that road. He had done the right thing by leaving. And this…dissatisfaction would pass once he was home.
He stepped off the porch and walked around behind the boardinghouse to cut across lots to the school. He wanted to walk, to feel the stretch and pull of his leg muscles, the strength flowing back into his body, but not on the waterfront street where the jostling of the crowds could hurt his wounded shoulder. That’s what he told himself.
He skirted the stone wall around the hotel property and walked through the schoolyard to the dirt road. His long strides ate up the distance to the corner. He glanced down the intersecting road on his left toward Viola’s cabin, frowned, and forced himself to keep walking straight ahead, beyond the final cluster of cabins, past the Dunkle farm and on toward the trees at the base of the mountains. Frustration gnawed at him. What caused those flashes of fear and that vulnerability Viola hid behind a wall of cool politeness? It was obvious she was troubled, fearful of something. Or someone? A man? Is that why she had been so nervous and jumpy around him at first? He was a pastor. Why wouldn’t she confide in him? Let him help her? He’d tried to breach that wall, but she evaded his efforts to draw her out.
He huffed out a breath, shoved his fingers through his hair. Something was very wrong. But unless she chose to tell him, it was none of his business. His concern was ridding himself of this sense of connection, this deepening love he felt for her. His work with the Tlingits had to be enough.
A cool breeze flowed down off the mountains, carried the fresh scent of water, the musky odor of forest soil and the astringent smell of firs. He filled his lungs, thought about his hut on the Chilkoot Trail and frowned. What he had viewed as solitude now seemed like loneliness.
I would be honored to help you in your work with the Tlingits.
He let out a sound that was half moan, half growl, pivoted and headed back toward town. He could stay away from Viola on his own part, but how could he refuse her help for the people he was called to serve? He needed an answer. He quickened his pace, held his gaze straight ahead as he came to the intersecting road, strode across the street to the church and climbed the newly laid stone steps. The door opened. He stopped dead in his tracks.
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“Hello, Thomas.” Mack Tanner smiled, stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind him. “Were you looking for me?” The smile turned hopeful. “You weren’t by chance coming to tell me you have decided to take me up on my offer and become the first official ordained pastor of Treasure Creek Church, were you?”
“You know my answer to that, Mack. I’m called to minister to the Tlingits and the stampeders climbing the Chilkoot, not to townspeople.” Thomas returned his smile, started back down the steps. “I was out stretching my legs and decided to take a look around. I hear you’ve made a lot of changes since I was last in the church. But I’ll see them at services tomorrow.”
Mack frowned, shot him a speculative look. “I was just praying over tomorrow’s message. The townspeople need to be fed, and I’m running out of food to give them. This church needs a real pastor, Thomas. I don’t suppose the fact that the organ I ordered from Seattle has come would induce you to change your mind?”
“Afraid not. I have to be true to my calling.”
“Well, the offer stands open, should you change your mind. Good night, Thomas. It’s good to see you out and around.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Thomas watched until Mack reached his home and went inside, then turned and climbed the steps. He moved through the log entrance into the new, white-plastered sanctuary, walked down the center aisle between the new pews and knelt before the altar. “Almighty God, your Word says, ‘If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God’…. I have a problem, Lord, and I come to You, humbly asking for Your wisdom and guidance. You know of my affection for Viola, and You also know I’m trying my best to conquer it. But she has offered to help me minister to the Tlingits. How can I refuse help for those You have called me to serve? But how can I be with her and not grow to feel more for her? Please give me wisdom and let me know Your will. Amen.”
He stayed on his knees, waiting. No answer came. There was only silence—and the beat of his heart. He put his hand on the floor and pushed to his feet, turned and walked back up the aisle. It was at the doorway to the entrance that he heard the soft whispering in his spirit. It isn’t over yet.
Hattie’s words. Not God’s. He shrugged them off, left the church and headed for the boardinghouse.
Chapter Eleven
“Ladies, your attention please.”
Viola pulled the empty spools she had strung on a short cord from her purse, handed them to Goldie and focused her attention on Lana Tanner.
“I asked you all to meet me here because this room is not a fit entrance to our lovely new sanctuary. I talked to Mack about fixing it up, but he said buying the organ was enough for the church to do right now, and he doesn’t want to ask for more donations. You all know he’s ordered the bell, and I thought it would be lovely if the church is all finished when it comes. Mack is willing to help, if it is necessary, but he thinks fixing this room would be a good project for our ladies’ group to undertake. And we all know how much money is in our coffers.” She pulled a face, bringing general laughter. “Anyway, I’m hoping some of you lovely, talented ladies will volunteer your time and skills to turn this sow’s ear into a silk purse. Though that may be more appropriate for a barn. But you all know what I mean.”
A small frown creased the forehead of Mack Tanner’s pretty, petite blond wife. “The first thing we need to change are the walls. These logs are so dark and rough. I thought perhaps…”
Viola followed her gaze toward the Tucker sisters. Frankie murmured to her married sisters, nodded and looked back to Lana.
“Seems like Margie and Lucy and me could help out with that. What’d you have in mind?”
“I’d like them plastered to match.”
All three sisters shook their heads. Frankie planted her hands on her hips. “Can’t do it, the logs are too rough and uneven. Best thing would be to shim them out, nail on vertical boards and paint them white to match the plaster.” A smile curved her lips, broke into a grin as she nudged her sisters. “Might be you could get the owner of the sawmill to donate the boards.”
Lana Tanner joined in the general laughter, batted her eyelashes. “I’m sure Mack would be delighted to do so. And that takes care of the walls. Now, about the windows… They look so plain….”
Viola shook the spools to distract Goldie, who was beginning to fuss, and smiled as every eye turned in her direction. “If you would like, I could sew something to dress them up, Lana.” She glanced at the small windows set deep in the log walls. “As you said, this room is already dark, and though white paint on the new board walls will brighten it considerably, I think regular curtains or drapes would close out too much light.” There was a murmur of agreement.
“What would you suggest, Viola?”
She narrowed her eyes, imagined various window treatments, thankful to think of something besides her problems. “Well…a narrow swag in a white silk that would reflect the light would be quite elegant and appropriate.”
“I had thought about a swag. But the white silk…” Lana glanced at the windows, nodded. “You’re right. It would add elegance and shine to the room.”
“I could add a long, silk fringe on the ends.”
“Oh, that sounds beautiful!” Lana beamed at her. “I knew I could count on you to come up with a wonderful idea. And remember how we decided to make seat cushions for the chairs in the schoolhouse?”
She smiled and jiggled Goldie, who was rubbing her eyes and whimpering. “Would you like me to make a nice pad in velvet for the bench? In one of the colors in the stained glass windows…a dark crimson perhaps? And a runner—in white silk, with fringe on the ends that would match the window swags—for the collections table?”
“That would be perfect, Viola! And also pads for the pews. If we have the funds to buy the materials.”
“If you would wish it…”
Everyone stopped talking and looked toward Teena Crow.
“My father once dived beneath the ice to save a white child. The child’s father’s heart was grateful. He gave my father a bowl of glass the color of violets in the sun. I could bring it and put it on the collections table to hold the money gifts, if you would like?”
“That would be lovely, Teena. Gracious, this meeting is turning out much better than I’d hoped. This room is going to be so lovely and welcoming.” Lana favored them all with a happy smile, then looked down and frowned. “Has anyone any suggestions as to what we can do about the floor? I asked Mack about buying a carpet, but he said this is our project, so the rug is up to us, ladies. Has anyone an idea?”
“What about a rag rug?” Hattie rose from the rough wood bench along the wall and Viola moved to give her space to stand beside her. “Might be it’s not elegant like a carpet, but it’s serviceable, and we could make it our own selves. Wouldn’t take long neither. Most everyone has old worn-out blankets or clothes and such they can give us. They can bring them to church, and when there’s enough we’ll get together, cut them into strips and braid them up, then sew them into a rug. If there ain’t enough strips to do a big rug, we can make a long skinny one that’ll stretch from the door to the sanctuary.”
Goldie stuck her thumb in her mouth. Viola shoved the spools back in her purse. She could wait no longer, though she hated the thought of going outside and walking home alone. She cuddled the baby close and leaned down until her mouth was by Hattie’s ear.
“I’m taking Goldie home.” She picked Goldie’s blanket up off the bench, tucked it around her and edged toward the door.
“A rag rug is a wonderful idea, Hattie. Everyone in the church can share in making it. Even the single men can donate their old blankets or clothes. I shall tell the congregation.”
Viola stepped out into the sunshine and closed the door. “Poor, tired little baby. It’s time to give you a bottle and put you down for your nap. Would you like that?” She kissed Goldie’s cheek, searched the area for any men lurking about, crossed the road to the school and walked to the corner. S
he would come back to the church and measure the windows after Hattie came home. It would be good to have another project to work on, not that she didn’t have enough sewing and mending from her customers to keep her busy. But the fabric had come quickly, and the hotel drapes would be finished in another week. And then she would have more time to think. And worry.
The dry leaves, fallen from the trees that lined her road, rustled at the brush of her long skirts, crunched beneath her feet. She looked up at the sky, blue and clear, forced her mind to pleasant wonderings. How long before snow started falling? It was odd not to know what to expect from the weather. But everyone said it got cold. She would have to make Goldie a winter coat and warm dresses. Thomas’s wife and baby had died of pneumonia. Her heart stalled on the thought. Would Thomas be warm enough in his hut?
She frowned, stared down at the leaf-strewn dirt road. No matter how she tried, thoughts of Thomas still crept in. It had been a week since his departure, and it felt like only yesterday. It was as if there were a large hole… She turned onto her path, froze at sight of the strange man standing by her stoop.
“You the lady that lives here?”
His gaze dropped to Goldie, lifted back to her face. The look in his eyes made her heart lurch, start beating again. He was not from Dengler. He was another gold seeker. Perhaps the kidnapper’s partner? She tightened her grip on Goldie, kept a pleasant tone in her voice. “Yes.” If only she could get by him into the house and lock the door. “If you have mending you want done, you will have to come back tomorrow.”
“I ain’t got no mending. I come for my baby and my gold.” He started toward her.
“Stay back!” She stepped backward onto the road.
The man stopped, scowled. “What’s wrong with you, lady? All I want is what’s mine.” He looked at Goldie and mimed a look of sadness. “I been missin’ my baby somethin’ awful.”
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