Gold Rush Baby

by Dorothy Clark

  “I was just…accosted by a miner outside your door. He thought…” Lana pressed her lips together, tossed her head. “Well, never mind what he thought. The man is obviously lacking in mental capacity!”

  “Oh, Lana! I’m so sorry—”

  “It’s not your fault, Viola.” The petite blonde broke into giggles. “Besides, some good may come of it. After the tongue-lashing I gave him, I’m quite certain the man will change his immoral ways.” Lana hitched her son higher on her hip and came to stand beside her. “Those beasts! Look at what they’ve done to you.”

  “Ouch.”

  She looked down at Lana’s two-year-old who was pointing at her face and nodded. “Yes, I have ‘ouches.’ But they’re getting better.” She lifted her hand and pointed to her mouth, gave the best smile she could manage. “See, the herbs take the hurt away.”

  Georgie looked up, put his little hands on his mother’ s cheeks. “’Erbs?”

  “Gracious, Viola! Don’t get him started asking questions.” Lana looked down at her son and laughed. “There aren’t enough hours in the day once he starts that.”

  “Why don’t I take Georgie out to the kitchen?” Hattie smiled at the toddler. “I have some cookies out there you can chew on whilst I finish feedin’ Goldie her lunch. How about that?”

  The toddler nodded and held out his arms. Hattie scooped him off Lana’s hip and headed for the kitchen. “I can tell you all about herbs and such. There’s these great big herbs, you see. Grow bi-i-ig as a house. And little boys can play under a leaf.”

  “Are you all right, Viola?” Lana made a face of disgust. “That’s a foolish thing to ask. But you know what I mean.” Her blue eyes warmed. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Your coming is enough, Lana.” Truly. She cleared the lump from her throat. “Teena’s herbs are helping with the soreness, and the rest will just…take time.”

  A sharp rap echoed through the room.

  She blanched, jerked toward the door.

  “Let me.” Lana whirled and marched to the door.

  “Lana, no!”

  Lana waved her hand in dismissal of the admonition, threw back the lock and opened the door. “Yes?”

  The man whipped off his hat. Balding, with graying hair. Not Karl. Viola took a deep breath, gripped the back of the settle for support.

  “Er…are you Viola Goddard?”

  “I am not.”

  The man frowned, glanced inside. She flinched back.

  “Is this her…house?”

  The man’s voice was low-pitched, with that underlying tone she knew so well. Her stomach curdled. She took a breath and started forward. She had to help Lana.

  “It is her home. May I help you?”

  She stopped, stared at the man’s frown. He was obviously perplexed by Lana’s cold tone.

  “Depends.” He smiled, stepped closer to Lana. “I’ve come to give her my…business. Less you’re—”

  “Where’s your mending?”

  “Mending? Wha—”

  Lana’s hand shot out, her index finger pointing toward the sign in the window on her right.

  “Seamstress?” The man scowled. “Look here, lady! I don’t care what that sign says. I heard different, an’ I’m here for—” He glanced at Lana, set his jaw. “I’m here to spend some personal time with Viola.”

  “Oh, my gracious! Silly me. You’ve come courting.” Lana fluttered her hand through the air. “I shall tell Viola you called. And I’m sure she would be accepting of your company in church. Service—”

  “Church?” The man’s mouth gaped.

  A low mumbling of men’s voices rose.

  “Why, yes. Viola attends every service faithfully. Would you care to leave your name—”

  “Never mind. Looks like I’ve made a mistake.” The man slapped his hat on.

  “You have indeed. As have those men behind you. Tell them all, if they want to see Viola, church services start at eight o’clock Sunday morning!” Lana closed the door, flipped the lock into place then looked at her and burst into laughter. “Did you see his face, Viola? Oh, my! And you should have seen the others scatter when I mentioned church. They looked for all the world like ants when you step on their hill.”

  The tension across her shoulders released, her stomach stopped churning. “I don’t know how to thank you, Lana. I—”

  “Poof! There’s no need for thanks. The truth is, I rather enjoyed that. Though I don’t think it’s going to increase our congregation.” Lana smiled and linked her arm with hers. “Shall we join Hattie in the kitchen for a cup of tea? I think we need to talk about how best to handle this situation. And I have an idea.”

  Thomas stepped out onto the porch, wishing he hadn’t eaten. There was nothing wrong with the food. Mavis Goodge set a good table for her boardinghouse patrons. It was the conversation at the table that had turned his stomach sour. Or more accurately, the lack of it. There had been no unsavory comments about Viola’s past, his presence had taken care of that. But the unnatural silence and the surreptitious, leering looks cast his way had left no doubt as to what the other diners were thinking.

  He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets and looked out toward the harbor. The last ferry of the day from Skaguay was disgorging another slew of hopeful gold seekers and their supplies. Where they would find a place to put down their tents and packs and other possessions was more than he could figure. The waterfront was already so packed with people and wares it was all but impossible to wend your way through them to reach the long, wood piers that stretched out to the deeper water.

  And the noise…

  He shook his head, looked at the men and women streaming off the pier in front of the boardinghouse. What did they think when they first saw the swarms of stampeders camped out on the muddy quagmire while they prepared for their trek up the Chilkoot Trail? He had learned early on it did no good to warn the newcomers of the horrendous, dangerous climb. Or of the incredible backbreaking work of carrying, then caching, their supplies daily on the first leg of their journey to the gold fields. They wanted to hear nothing but tales of gold waiting to be picked up for the taking.

  He stepped forward, leaned his good shoulder against the porch post. The hundreds that had come at the beginning of the gold rush had turned into thousands, all of them with their heads full of dreams and their hearts full of the lust for gold. The sad part was, most would find nothing but disappointment and heartbreak. He ministered to the disillusioned and broken every day. It left him little time for the Tlingits, who were his original purpose for coming north.

  He frowned, scanned the nameless faces. How many dead had he prayed over? How many injured had he helped rescue and bring to Treasure Creek for treatment and care? How many angry, bitter men, defeated by the weather and the hardships of climbing the Chilkoot before they ever neared the gold fields, had he tried to convince of God’s love for them?

  How many of these would he find injured, or lifeless and beyond his succor, along the trail? He was only one man and the distance was great, the climb slow and dangerous. How could he hope to reach the thousands of miners before they lost everything in their search for riches?

  “Lord God Almighty, may You have mercy on them all.”

  He moved down the steps, halted as he spotted Ed Parker standing by a stack of crates and watching the people coming off the pier. Something in his posture said it was not casual observation. He left the porch and wound his way through the stampeders to the sheriff.

  “Expecting someone, Ed?”

  The big man shot him a look, shook his head. “Nope. But I’m gonna be here to welcome him, should he come. Where you been all day?”

  “Up the trail. Jacob says I have to stay in town on account of busting open my wound again. I hired Jimmy Crow to pack some clothes and such down to Goodge’s for me. Spent the day getting things together.” He stepped closer to the stack of crates as a man pushed a barrow loaded with supplies toward them through the press o
f people. “Were you looking for me?”

  “Yeah. I need your help looking for a man. I’m watching for him now, but it’s possible he’s already here. I been looking around all day and haven’t spotted him, but with all these stampeders everywhere…” Ed’s massive shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Keep watch for a small, wiry man with dark hair and a scar on the back of his left hand. Name’s Karl. He’s likely dressed in city clothes.”

  “What’s he done?”

  “Nothing…yet.”

  The timbre of Ed’s voice had changed. Thomas moved around to get a better view of his face. “What’s that mean?”

  Ed glanced at him, then went back to watching the pier. “It means he’s Dengler’s man and he might be after Viola. Dengler and Dolph won’t say if he’s in town or not.”

  It hit him in his gut. The muscles in his legs tensed, ready to run to her cabin and make sure she was all right. “How’d you find out about him?”

  “Viola. I talked with her this morning. Asked her if Dengler had any other men like Dolph working for him. She said this Karl and Dolph usually work together.”

  The nerve along his jaw jumped. Thomas clenched his hand around the pistol in his pocket, turned.

  “Where you headed, Thomas?”

  He stopped, looked back at Ed. “To watch Viola’s cabin.”

  “You got a pistol?”

  “Yes.”

  The sheriff nodded. “I’m making you my deputy. Frankie’s staying nights with Viola, but if this thug shows up, we need to stop him before he can get anywhere near them. I’m gonna keep searching here amongst the stampeders. If he gets by me, and you get him cornered, don’t let him get close. He likes to use a knife, and you’d be no match for him with that bum shoulder. You keep him covered and have Frankie hogtie him, then come for me.”

  His blood turned gelid at the thought of a man with a knife near Viola. He nodded, turned to go.

  “One more thing, Thomas.”

  He looked back.

  “I don’t know if he’s a thrower. But if it looks like he’s fixing to toss a knife at you, shoot him.”

  A special dress. One that would make her look all girly and pretty.

  Viola added a few chunks of wood from the firebox to the coals in the stove, to chase away the chill of the night air, took her seat at the table and pulled the oil lamp closer to the paper. Frankie—raucous carpenter, pistol-shooting avowed spinster and deputy, Frankie Tucker—was in love.

  All girly and pretty. That request was so far from Frankie’s normal boots, split skirt and leather belt hanging with tools. But love made you want to be beautiful for the man who held your heart.

  Tears filmed her eyes, blurred the profile outline of a woman’s body she’d drawn on the paper. For her that was impossible. She would forever be tarnished, defiled in Thomas’s eyes. But Frankie would have her girly dress. And she would see the love and admiration in Ed Parker’s eyes. And she would know she was beautiful to him.

  Viola blinked her vision clear, picked up the pencil and sketched in short, dark curls on the figure’s head. First…a collar that would stand up in the back—so Frankie’s curls would touch it—then curve around and end in a modest V above her breasts, with a rose at the joining. Next, a fitted bodice with small mother-of-pearl buttons, dipping to a V at the front waist that mimicked the line of the collar. And long sleeves that ended in a lace-trimmed V on the back of Frankie’s hands. She drew the lines, studied them, nodded. She would gather fabric along the bottom edges of the V, and then bias-cut it so it fell back in a graceful swoop to become a modest train.

  She sketched in a full underskirt, ended it in a scalloped hem trimmed with roses at ankle height, then added a deep, gathered flounce that would brush the floor. What else? Something to make it special. She looked at the drawing, noted the way the bodice ended in a V at the front but was plain in the back. She added a small, lace-trimmed semicircle of fabric that draped over the back of the overskirt, reminiscent of a bustle, drew a large bow where it joined the bodice in the back, and smiled.

  She winced, touched her fingers to her sore lips. The dress was special, feminine and beautiful. She would make it in a lovely, cream-colored silk. But one thing more was needed. She added a wide band of fabric, clustered with roses, among the dark curls. Now it was perfect. Frankie would have her wish.

  Tears flooded her eyes. She tried not to, fought with all her strength to keep from imagining herself in such a gown, standing before an altar, being wed to Thomas. But the image was there before her. And then she looked into his eyes. The image dissolved in another spate of tears. All she could see was the hurt and disillusionment that had been there when he had turned away from her. She could not bear to do that to him again. Not ever again. A marriage between an ex-harlot and a man of God was impossible.

  She tucked the hopeless dream deep into her heart, turned down the wick to extinguish the light and walked from the room.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You look done in, Thomas.” Ed Parker lifted the blackened pot in his hand toward him. “Coffee?”

  Thomas shook his head, winced. “I had some before I came.”

  The sheriff set the coffeepot back on the potbelly stove and took a swig of the hot, dark brew in his cup. “Looks like you need sleep more than coffee. You get any?”

  “Some. I spotted Jimmy Crow on his way into town this morning, and got him to watch while I caught a short nap. He’s there now.” Thomas rubbed the stiff muscles at the back of his neck. Leaning against that tree all night was playing havoc with his injured shoulder. “I came to see if you had any luck spotting Karl.” Saying the name brought that chill of fear for Viola, followed by the heat of fury. He took the anger out on his stiff neck muscles. The massage loosened them.

  Ed Parker shook his head. “Nope. But it’d be easy enough for him to hide in amongst the stampeders. I spread the word to the businesses. Everyone will be watching for him. If he goes into a store they’ll let me know. Trouble is, I’ve got to get Dengler and Dolph over to Skaguay and get them in a proper jail.” A frown darkened his face. “I don’t like leaving town while Karl might be roaming around, but I don’t wanna trust those two to a deputy.”

  “I gave this some thought last night, Ed.” As if anything else could find space in his head. “It seems to me, if Karl is in town, it’s either to meet up with Dengler, or finish the job Dengler and Dolph started.” The words almost choked him. “And if he’s been here, he’s heard about Dengler and Dolph being arrested. That and gold are all anyone’s talking about. He could have decided to leave. And there’s one other possibility.” He took a breath, stared at that black coffeepot. “I was thinking back over the other night and I remembered a detail I’d forgotten. Dengler mentioned having a ‘house’ in Skaguay. It could be Karl is there, waiting for Dengler to return.” Please, God.

  “That makes sense.” Ed nodded, took another swallow of coffee. “That’d explain why Dengler and Dolph aren’t talking about him.” He smiled, drained his cup and hung it back on a hook on the wall. “That trip to Skaguay is looking more inviting. I’ll make a call at Dengler’s place, once I get him and Dolph settled comfortable in a cell. If Karl’s there, I’ll see if I can’t arrange something, so I can take him to jail to join them.”

  Thomas nodded, held his hope in check. “Meanwhile, if Karl is here he’ll show up at Viola’s cabin sooner or later. I’ll be hidden in the woods, waiting.” He turned, reached for the door, jumped back as it was shoved open from outside.

  “Sheriff Parker, I’ve come to lodge a complaint!” Evelyn Harris burst into the small room, her face tight with anger.

  “What’s that Mrs. Harris?”

  “I want you to do your job and throw Viola Goddard out of town! There is a—parade of stampeders on our road, coming and going from her place! Why, I could hardly make my way through them to get here.”

  The sickness slammed into his gut again. Thomas clenched his hands, held back the recriminations
that sprang to his tongue. “Is there a law that holds a person responsible for people on their road, Ed?”

  “Not any I know of.” A frown touched the sheriff’s broad face. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mrs. Harris. I can’t go arresting someone ’cause there’s people on their road. That being the case, I’d have to arrest you, too, seeing as how you live there.”

  “That is ridiculous! I am not—”

  “Not what, Mrs. Harris?” Thomas met her furious gaze.

  “You know very well what, Mr. Stone! You were at Viola Goddard’s cabin that night. You heard what was said. And you know, as well as I, why those men are swarming to her cabin.”

  “Yes, I do. It’s because someone started a vicious rumor about Miss Goddard. The stampeders are responding to that rumor.”

  Evelyn Harris gasped, whirled. “I want that woman thrown out of town, Sheriff. There is no place in Treasure Creek for her kind. If you need proof of what she is, I suggest you go ask those stampeders.” She jerked open the door, looked back. “If you do not do your job, I shall speak with the mayor about getting a new sheriff! Good day!” She stepped outside and slammed the door shut.

  Ed Parker, shook his head. “Guess that woman’s mama never scrubbed her tongue with soap for telling lies.”

  “I’d like to do it now.” Thomas took a breath, blew it out slow. “A parade of stampeders.” What had that woman and her vicious tongue done? Images ran through his head of Viola holding Goldie and humming…sitting in the rocker, her head bowed over her sewing…feeding him when he was helpless…talking and laughing with Hattie…her home, so comfortable, so peaceful and serene. And now, thanks to Evelyn Harris, that comfort and peace had been destroyed. A parade of stampeders? He’d soon put an end to that! He tugged his hat low over his eyes and slammed out the door.

  Viola lifted the huge pan of dough out of the hole, put another down in its place and replaced the boards.

  “Where’s that dough, Viola?”

  “Coming!” She hurried to the table and dumped the dough out on the floured surface. “Are you all right, Hattie? If you’re getting tired—”