I do, I do, I do

by Maggie Osborne

  "This is an unusual ring. I've noticed that Clara and Juliette wear one like it. Is it club jewelry?"

  "What?" Her voice was dulled and faint.

  "I've wondered if you all belong to the same women's club."

  "You could say that," she said bitterly, withdrawing her hand.

  Long after Tom slept and the temperature began to drop in the lean-to, Zoe lay awake in the warmth of his arms, mentally flogging herself for the mess she had made of her life.

  Tom believed they had made a commitment to each other tonight. And it should have been that way. It would have, if she hadn't been married. They would have found rapture in each other's arms, joy in declaring their love, and pleasure and excitement in planning a future that both their families would have heartily approved.

  Instead, she had dishonored him, because she would have staked her life that Tom Price would never make love to a married woman. Just as he would stake his life that Zoe Wilder would never betray marriage vows.

  And Tom would know what she had done when they reached Dawson City and ran into Jean Jacques, damn him.

  Near morning, she reached for him and kissed him hungrily, needing him desperately for the brief time she could have him. Her selfishness dismayed her, but she needed this moment of happiness.

  He touched her cheek in the darkness. "You're crying!"

  "Just love me, Tom. Just for tonight." While they could. Before shooting Jean Jacques completed the ruin of her life.

  This time they made love slowly, tenderly, their caresses lingering and long. They drank deep of each other, not knowing if there would be another chance for privacy.

  She couldn't say the words aloud, but she said them silently. I love you. Oh, Tom, I love you with all of my heart.

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  The group considered staying at Deep Lake for a few days because everyone was exhausted, but they voted to push on and spend Christmas at Linderman Lake, where a large camp had gathered around a collection of ramshackle buildings.

  Stumbling with fatigue, Juliette ran behind her sled, tears cutting tracks through the ash and grease before freezing on her cheeks. She had never been this miserably bone-tired or this cold. Every morning she woke up shivering violently with her teeth chattering, unwilling to crawl out of her sleeping bag until Clara or Zoe had fired up the stove. On the mornings when it was her turn to start the coffee and breakfast, she cursed herself for ever leaving sunny California.

  The frigid cold was unlike anything she could have imagined. No matter how many layers of clothing she wore, she was never warm, never comfortable. Icy talons of wind clawed through the layers and chilled her to the marrow, and then she had to worry about perspiration freezing on her skin and leading to frostbite. The first thing everyone did after the tents were set up at the end of the day was strip out of perspiration-damp clothing, towel themselves dry, then hasten into the next day's clothing, which they then slept in. Hovering next to the stove or a fire didn't help. The front of her warmed somewhat while the back of her froze.

  In retrospect, she had taken so many things for granted.

  Warmth. Clean clothing. Daily baths. Good food with plenty of variety. Once she would have laughed until her sides ached if anyone had suggested that she would or could run through snow behind a dogsled for mile after seemingly endless mile. Or that she'd go weeks with only spit baths to keep herself clean. Or that she would one day know what a blizzard was. Or that…

  Ahead, the dogs began barking, which meant the forward sleds had halted. It must be time for the midday meal. Juliette wiped at the tears on her face, smearing ash and bacon grease on her glove. It didn't matter because her gloves were dirty anyway. She alternated two ensembles day after day and neither could be called clean or fresh.

  But her spirits improved at the prospect of a rest. By the time she caught up, Tom and the Chilkats would have a fire blazing and soup and coffee bubbling on the camp stoves. And tonight they would pitch camp at Linderman Lake. Bear had told Clara there was actually a hotel at Linderman Lake, and Juliette intended to stay there. She'd been dreaming of it for days.

  She ran her dogs up next to the other sleds and set the brake. Henry and Luc, two of the Chilkats, waved before they started changing her dog team's burlap shoes. Juliette flexed her shoulders and bent from side to side, working out the stiffness. It had been a long time since she had needed liniment, but her body felt the effects of hours of strenuous exercise.

  Ben drove up behind her and gave his dogs to Henry. He'd shaved his beard the day after she wondered aloud how he'd look without it, but she couldn't judge the effect because he wore ashes and grease on his face like everyone else. At this point, Juliette was so used to seeing the gunk on everyone's face that she no longer felt self-conscious about it. But she wished she could see Ben's shaven chin.

  "Did you notice the moose we passed about a mile back?" he asked, falling into step beside her. As always, he scanned her thoroughly as if assuring himself that she was all right.

  "I was thinking about the hotel at Linderman Lake and didn't notice much of anything." That was partly true, but as usual, she'd spent most of this morning's trek thinking about him. Sometimes she felt as if a piece of Ben Dare had crept into her mind to tease and torment her. She passed the hours behind the sled remembering every word of their conversation the evening before, wondering if he ever thought about holding her naked body in his arms, wondering what she would do if he tried to kiss her. She continually thought about kissing.

  "Don't get your hopes up about the hotel," Ben advised after they had both poured cups of hot coffee and had swallowed their noonday dose of citric acid to ward off scurvy. "Bear says it doesn't amount to much. The men's side of one big room is separated from the women's side by a blanket, and the cots they rent aren't any better than what you have now. Lighting is provided by a candle stuck in a bottle on top of a flour barrel. As for the food…" He shrugged broad shoulders.

  Crushing disappointment followed her shock. "That won't do," she said finally. It had to be the height of impropriety to sleep near a strange man with only a blanket separating them. "I was imagining a real hotel." Fiercely she told herself that she would not cry in front of him. "I'd hoped to sleep in a real bed and have a real sit-down meal at a table." She had imagined being warm all over at the same time, and a long bath in a real tub.

  "This trip has been hard on you, hasn't it?" he asked softly.

  Oh, Lord. Sympathy had a way of doing her in. Blinking hard, she tried to sound brave. "I'd just like a little break from all of this. Then I'll be ready to go again."

  She was beginning to understand what Zoe meant when Zoe spoke of growing up without privacy. It was impossible to maintain modesty while sharing a tiny tent with two other women. She knew that Clara had a mole on her hip and knew that Zoe brushed her hair a hundred strokes every night. Clara snored, and Zoe muttered as she slept. Clara gargled with salt water; Zoe was fanatical about cleaning her fingernails. They left hair wound around the curling iron. Neither of them remembered to trim the wick in the lantern. Juliette had never known these small details about another woman, and she didn't especially like knowing them now. Was it too much to hope for one night alone?

  "Maybe I can work something out. Let me think about it," Ben promised, giving her an oddly speculative look. At least she thought he did. It was hard to read his expression through his blue-tinted glasses and the ashy gunk on his face.

  Clara joined her beside the stove, and they watched Ben walk toward the men. "So," Clara said, noisily sipping a cup of soup, "has he kissed you yet?"

  "Do you have to make slurping noises when you eat? And no, he hasn't kissed me. I don't want him to."

  "Liar. And yes, I have to make slurping noises. No one except you can drink soup without slurping." Clara made a face. "I didn't come over here to discuss soup etiquette. I'm worried about Zoe."

  At least they could agree about Zoe. Juliette turned in a circle until she
spotted Zoe talking to Tom. "Sometimes she seems happier than we've ever seen her, but I've heard her crying at night after she thinks we're asleep."

  "It's Tom," Clara said flatly. "She loves him. I told her it was all right with me if she didn't want to shoot our husband. We could camp at Bennett Lake until spring, then go home. You and Zoe could tell your families that Jean Jacques died, and that's that. We start our lives over."

  Juliette gazed across the snow at Ben, longing in her eyes. Clara painted a tempting picture. "But it won't work. What if we, say, remarried? That marriage would be based on a lie. And then, what if Jean Jacques showed up again? We'd have two husbands, both of them mad as wet hens, I'd imagine."

  "Ja, that is what Zoe said." Clara heaved a sigh. "She said it's better if we know for sure the no-account snake is dead. I think she hates him enough that she's looking forward to shooting him."

  "I never thought I would feel this way, but I hate him, too." Juliette gazed at Ben through a film of tears. "Things could be so wonderful if I wasn't married."

  Clara shifted to look at Bear, who stared back at her. "You almost drowning and me falling in that hole in the snow made me think about things. Zoe is right to grab what happiness she can while she can." She squeezed Juliette's hand. "You should think about that, too, if you haven't already. Anyone can see that Ben Dare is pining for you."

  "Exactly what are you saying?" Juliette asked slowly.

  "You know what we wondered about when Zoe and Tom were caught in the storm?"

  "I didn't wonder about any such thing!" Her lie and the subject matter made her cheeks burn under the grease.

  "Of course you did. I did, too. Well, I hope they loved each other all night." Clara gave her a challenging stare. "If that makes me a floozy, then I'm a floozy. I've thought about it, and I don't think we should let Jean Jacques Villette ruin our lives more than he has already. We deserve to be loved and happy!"

  "Clara Klaus!" Juliette stepped back, and her eyes widened. "You're planning to seduce Bear!" And it wouldn't take much to be successful. If ever Juliette had seen a man eager to be seduced, that man was Bear Barrett. He couldn't keep his eyes off Clara. It suddenly occurred to her the same could be said about Ben. She spun around to look at him. Sure enough, he was looking back at her. She wet her lips and swallowed.

  "Maybe I do have plans," Clara said, raising her chin.

  "And you know something? No one cares. Not up here. Up here the rules are different."

  Juliette sniffed. "The proper rules for respectable ladies remain the same the world over."

  "You're wrong, Juliette. Up here it's live and let live. No one cares what you do unless it affects them. When you fell into the lake there was talk, but—"

  "See? I told you!"

  Clara shook her head, shaking ice from the fur framing her face. "Not talk about you and Ben. Everyone understood stripping off your clothing to save your life. The speculation was about whatever possessed you to walk out on thin ice to begin with. And no one has made any scurrilous comments about Tom and Zoe being alone the night of the storm. It's taken me a while to understand all this, but now I think I do. And the freedom of it is exhilarating!" A wide smile curved her lips. "Think of it. Up here we can do whatever we want. We can be who we are. The only rules are those set by nature or by ourselves."

  All afternoon, while running behind her sled, Juliette thought about Clara believing that Zoe loved Tom and about their being together, and she considered Clara's intention to seduce Bear. And self-pity swamped her. They were seizing some happiness for themselves and the devil take the hindmost. They weren't letting a little thing like a husband stand in their way. If indeed any of them had a legal husband at all. It was possible that none of the marriages counted. In which case, it didn't matter if they loved and let themselves be loved by another man. So why couldn't Juliette embrace this line of reasoning? Why couldn't she make her own rules, too?

  Because it seemed improper to fall into the arms of one man while wearing another man's wedding ring.

  Thinking about it gave her a headache. Did femme fatales worry themselves into a frenzy about these details? Was it laudable or truly stupid to cling to propriety? She knew how Aunt Kibble and her mother would answer that question. But Aunt Kibble had never seen Juliette as pretty or appealing enough to attract a man. A man could only be interested in her inheritance. It was easy to stand on firm notions of propriety regarding relationships between men and women when no man pursued the woman in question.

  But Ben didn't know about her money. And he thought she was beautiful. She saw it in his eyes, and it thrilled her. Everything about him thrilled her. The way he moved and the way he spoke. The way he challenged himself and did some of his own packing even though he didn't have to. She loved his thoughtfulness and loved knowing he had run into the freezing lake without a moment's hesitation when she was drowning. She loved his loyalty to his late wife and how he placed no limits on women. She loved the look and touch and scent of him.

  Oh, Lord. She loved him.

  Suddenly Jean Jacques's ring pinched her finger and her conscience. The marriage hadn't meant anything to Jean Jacques, but it had meant everything to her. At least she'd thought it had. First pain and now fury had begun to blur her memories. She remembered Jean Jacques was handsome, but she could no longer recall his exact features. When she tried, her memory painted a portrait that looked remarkably like Ben Dare. In her memory, Jean Jacques spoke in Ben's voice. But the two could not have been more different. Ben was honest and loyal, whereas Jean Jacques was anything but.

  She loved Ben.

  Oh, Lord, what was she going to do?

  The first two days at Linderman Lake passed in a rush of chores and renewing acquaintances. Mrs. Eddington brought them a molasses cake, and other ladies they had met stopped by to say hello and share their experiences on the trail.

  Juliette helped Zoe and Clara melt snow in large pots and boil their laundry, all of them weepy with gratitude for clean clothing and socks and undergarments. They aired their sleeping bags, blankets, and coats and scarves; they mended clothing and stockings. They took turns washing their hair and sitting next to the stove to dry.

  Since they were settled for a while, they assembled their camp stove inside the tent and for the first time in a long time felt warm all over. To celebrate, Clara cooked one of the two-pound cans of corned beef and dried cabbage. Zoe made cornbread. And Juliette baked a dried apple pie that gave her a secret flash of pride. Three months ago she couldn't have made a pie if the fate of the world depended on it. They ate sitting on their cots, wearing clean woolen long Johns, feeling better than they had since Chilkoot Pass.

  "I tried to buy some butter for the cornbread," Zoe said, "and I actually found some. But the man wanted twenty dollars a pound. I decided we could eat it with grease and jam."

  "It's wonderful. And so is the corned beef."

  "Hurry up and finish. I want some of your pie, it smells so good. And you didn't burn the crust this time," Clara observed with a smile.

  They looked toward the tent flap when someone called Juliette's name. She frowned in surprise. "It sounds like Luc. What could he want?" It wasn't usual for one of the Chilkats to come calling.

  "Well, poke your head outside and find out," Clara said.

  Juliette looked down at loose hair flowing over the top of her shapeless red long Johns. "I can't answer the door looking like this!"

  "Then you'll never know what he wanted, will you?"

  "Damn." There she went again, showing the effects of keeping bad company. The bad company looked at her and laughed. "What do you want?" she called to the tent flap.

  "I have a message for Miss Juliette March."

  Her eyebrows lifted. "What is the message?"

  "It's in an envelope, missy, and I can't read."

  Itching with curiosity, Juliette stuck her arm through a crack in the opening. Instantly, icy wind raised goose bumps beneath the sleeve of her long Johns. "Thank
you," she called, pulling the envelope inside. Her name was written in a bold male hand. "Who could have sent this?"

  "I can't imagine!" Zoe and Clara fell backward on their cots and rolled their eyes.

  "Now who could it possibly be? Mrs. Eddington? That rat, Jake Horvath?"

  "I know! Maybe the Queen is visiting Canada and wants to meet fellow royalty."

  "That's not funny," Juliette said in the prissy voice that by now annoyed even her. She turned the envelope over and studied the initials stamped in red sealing wax. BJD.

  "Ben sent it?" Clara fanned her face. "Well, knock me over. Who would have guessed?"

  Zoe rolled around laughing. "So what does he say?"

  "That is none of your business." But she couldn't resist reading it aloud. "Mr. Benjamin Dare requests the pleasure of Miss Juliette March's company at dinner on December eighteenth at seven o'clock. Twelve Main Street." She blinked. "He's inviting me to dinner. What shall I do?"

  "More to the point, what will you wear?" Zoe sat up. "You can't wear the same clothes you've been wearing on the trail."

  Clara nodded. "We'll have to rummage through the crates and find her other clothes." She narrowed her eyes at Juliette. "The ash and grease helped, but your face is still red and chapped. We have about twenty-four hours to work on you. Lard. There's nothing better than lard for softening skin."

  "I'll grind some rice and make powder. And I can make a lemon rinse for her hair out of the citrus tablets."

  "Miss March?" Luc was still out there. "I was instructed to request a reply."

  "Just a minute, please." Flying up, she tore through her small overnight valise, digging for stationery. Frowning, she glanced at Zoe and Clara. "Do you think I should accept?"

  They stared as if she had lost her senses, then continued discussing how she should dress her hair for the occasion.

  Different rules, she reminded herself. There was no harm in having dinner with Ben. No one cared. After she found her pen and bottle of ink, she wrote: Miss Juliette March accepts with pleasure Mr. Benjamin Dare's kind invitation to dinner on December the eighteenth at seven o'clock.