A Daughter's Inheritance

by Judith Miller

  Mortimer thumped his cane on the floor. “Do you realize how much money is in the balance? You had best throw off that cloak of self-righteousness and change your attitude.”

  Vincent’s nervous laughter didn’t offer the level of accord Jonas expected.

  “Since when is your law firm worried about ethics and morality?” Jonas demanded as he stood and turned to face Mortimer. “Should I be seeking another lawyer to handle my business?”

  “Of course not, Jonas.” The old lawyer motioned toward the chair. “Sit down. We’re going to get this resolved to your satisfaction.” He pinned his son with an angry glare. “Aren’t we, Vincent.”

  “Yes, but I do believe we should make every attempt to cause the least harm possible to the girl.”

  Jonas groaned. “I don’t believe this is going to work, Mortimer.”

  Mortimer poked Vincent with the tip of his cane. “You listen to me, young man. This is going to work, and you are going to make it work. Do I make myself clear?”

  Jonas clearly understood the veiled threat. So did Vincent, for he quickly offered his assistance. “If you’re planning to send the girl to visit Mr. Morrison in Syracuse, I’m willing to accompany her in order to observe what transpires.”

  “No need. I plan to have her visit for an extended period of time. How long do you think it will take before we can have the court declare she’s not a blood relative and is not entitled to any share of the estate?”

  Vincent picked up the pencil and nervously tapped it atop the desk. “I surmise that none of the family will protest the process. Still, there are statutes we must follow, and the court’s docket must be considered, too. I would guess six to nine months until all is said and done. Of course, if the girl hires counsel to represent her in the proceedings, it could take much longer.”

  Jonas jumped up from his chair. “Six to nine months is far too long!” He paced back and forth like a caged animal. “She doesn’t have money to hire a lawyer.”

  “But Mr. Morrison may be able to find a counselor who would handle the case on a contingency basis. And if Morrison can prove he isn’t Fanny’s father and that his assertion was made under duress . . .”

  The comment brought Jonas’s pacing to a halt. “You think a lawyer might be willing to risk such a thing?”

  “I can’t say with absolute authority, but an argument could certainly be made that your father may have known of Fanny’s parentage. Who’s to say? Her attorney might find a witness who would testify your father knew Langley wasn’t Fanny’s father.”

  Had this man gone completely daft? “The three of us realize that isn’t possible, since Langley was her father. Are you forgetting this plan is based upon a lie of my own making?”

  “No. But you’re obviously forgetting there could be others willing to perjure themselves for a price. In somewhat the same manner as you’ve convinced Mr. Morrison to succumb to your scheme, a wily lawyer could hire a witness. One who would testify your father was aware of the truth regarding Fanny’s lineage.”

  This was becoming more complicated by the minute. He had hired lawyers to achieve his desired goals, not to speak of failure. Working with Mortimer had been much less difficult when he’d been in practice by himself. However, with Mortimer’s failing health, Jonas couldn’t depend solely upon the old lawyer. Had he realized Vincent possessed so many scruples, he would have taken his legal business elsewhere.

  “And you’re concerned we might not be able to convince Mr. Morrison that he should dissuade Fanny from seeking legal counsel?” Jonas asked.

  Vincent shrugged. “I don’t know your niece or Mr. Morrison. If the girl is not easily swayed, I have no doubt she could find someone to assist her. The contingency fee would be quite handsome—certainly worthy of a hard-fought battle, don’t you think?”

  “Any other obstacles you’d like to throw in the pathway to our success?”

  “If you’re truly interested.”

  Now what? Was there no end to this man’s desire to fail? “I prefer men who possess a positive attitude, Vincent. Is failure your objective?”

  “Not at all. My objective is always to win. That’s why I always consider the flaws in a case before I step into the courtroom. I want to be prepared.”

  “I’m pleased at least to hear you want to succeed,” Jonas muttered.

  Vincent once again began tapping his pencil. “Let’s remember that Mr. Morrison has a long history as a gambler. After thought and consideration, he may view this entire matter as a gamble.”

  Jonas leaned forward. “How so? If he wants to free himself of debt, he must do my bidding.”

  “Not necessarily. Once he and Miss Broadmoor develop more of a relationship, he may decide that the two of them could strike a deal. One that would be of greater financial benefit to him. What if he tells your niece the truth and the two of them enter into an agreement that once she receives her inheritance, she will pay off his debt and perhaps even give him additional funds? Even if she pays him no more than you’ve offered, he’s freed himself from the criminal act of perjury. In addition, he can assuage any feelings of guilt with thoughts that he hasn’t permanently injured the girl’s future or reputation. Of course the same couldn’t be said for you if that should occur.”

  With an unexpected rush, the warmth of the afternoon overpowered Jonas and beads of perspiration lined his brow. He withdrew a fine linen handkerchief from his pocket and swiped it across his forehead. Was Harold Morrison cunning enough to create and carry out such a plan? He recalled Morrison’s distaste when he’d heard the particulars. Surely the man wouldn’t go to such lengths when Jonas had already offered him a simple method to extricate himself from his financial difficulties.

  Jonas studied Vincent for a moment. He couldn’t decide if the young lawyer was truly attempting to help him or if he was hoping to create an avenue of disentanglement for himself. Either way, he had presented Jonas with food for thought. He should have talked to the lawyers before arranging Fanny’s visit with the Morrisons in Syracuse.

  27

  Stephen’s Passage, Alaska

  “Headin’ for gold, eh?” an older man asked Michael.

  Standing on the deck of the steamer Newport, Michael nodded and gave the man his hand. “That I am. Michael Atwell’s the name.”

  The man exchanged a shake and smiled. “The name’s Zebulon Stanley, but you can call me Zeb.”

  “Glad to meet you, Zeb.” Michael looked out at the passing collection of islands. “This sure reminds me of home.” Although it was the first week of September, the air had a chilled promise of colder days to come.

  “Where you from?”

  “The Thousand Islands. Are you familiar with the area?”

  “Can’t say that I am.” The older man scratched his beard and shrugged. “No, I can’t say that I’ve ever heard of such a place.”

  “It’s in the St. Lawrence River between New York and Ontario. There are thousands of little islands similar to these. But instead of being barren of homes, many of our islands have huge castlelike estates. The very wealthy own them and usually spend their summers in leisure there.”

  “Oh, so you’re already very wealthy?”

  Michael laughed. “Not me. Not my parents, either. We worked as island staff for the Broadmoor family. I’m quite handy with boats.”

  “Do say. So what brought you up this way?”

  “Well, of course the gold rush,” Michael admitted. “Sounds like it’s quite the adventure.”

  “Oh, it is, quite the adventure,” Zeb repeated. “’Course I was up here awhile before gold was discovered, so it’s less so for me.”

  Michael noted the man’s unkempt appearance. He was, as Michael’s mother might have noted, rather scruffy around the collar. Still, he was a companionable enough soul, and Michael figured he might well learn something about the frozen north.

  “So you’re already familiar with the Yukon?”

  “I am. Been up here nearly five ye
ars now. I’m what they call an old sourdough.”

  “What’s it like? I’ve heard all sorts of stories.”

  “Most of ’em are probably true. ’Cept for maybe the ones about picking up gold nuggets the size of babies’ heads.”

  “What about how the gold is just lying there waiting to be picked up?”

  The man laughed. “Well, the gold is there, that much is true. But it’s hardly lying around. You have to work for it.”

  “I don’t know anything about gold mining. What kind of thing is required? Do you go digging into the ground like you do for coal?”

  “Seems all mining is about digging. The only problem with the Klondike is that the ground is frozen most all of the time. We have to light fires to warm up the dirt and melt the frozen ground. Then we dig that up and sluice it, using water from the creek or river,” Zeb replied. “It’s quite the process. You put the dirt in these rocker boxes and go to work. The goal is to wash away the dirt and rocks. The gold sinks ’cause it’s heavier. Of course some folks don’t want that kind of setup. They prefer panning for gold.”

  “How is that done?”

  “You take a round pan and basically do the same thing as the sluicing but on a much smaller scale.” He pretended to hold a pan. “You put it in the creek and get some soil from the bed. Then you rinse it like this.” He made a motion as if shaking a pan gently back and forth. “You keep rinsing it with the water until the debris is gone and the gold sinks to the bottom.”

  “And you can do this in any river or creek?”

  “Not all of them have anything to offer. And there are claims that have to be filed with the authorities. A lot of the good ones have already been taken.”

  “Do you have a claim?”

  The man nodded. “Me and my brother Sherman have a small one. He’s up there right now keepin’ it safe from intruders.”

  “Did you come down to get supplies?”

  “Yeah. The winters are mighty long up north. Dark, too. We figure to work through as best we can, but we need equipment.” Zeb looked around. “You come north with someone?”

  “No,” Michael told him. “My employer did loan me the money, but I’m traveling on my own.”

  “So you have a grubstake,” Zeb said. “That’s good. Too many folks try to come north without supplies, and they die. The wilderness ain’t that forgiving.”

  Michael nodded. “I know that well enough.”

  “I doubt most of these folks do,” Zeb said, tipping his head toward the throngs of passengers. “They haven’t got any idea what’s in store for them. They don’t know about anything but the glory stories of gold.” He looked at Michael. “What about the gold caused you to leave your home?”

  Michael leaned back against the railing. “A beautiful young woman.”

  Zeb grinned. “A woman? Like I said, me and my brother have been up there for a long while. I don’t recall a woman being a part of the deal.”

  “My employer has a niece, and . . . well, we’re in love. We want to marry, but he doesn’t believe me worthy. We struck a bargain that I’d come north and make my fortune, and then he would allow us to marry.”

  Zeb rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And if you don’t make your fortune?”

  “I can’t even begin to think that way,” Michael replied. “Fanny means everything to me. If we can’t be together . . . nothing would be the same.”

  “I had me a gal once,” Zeb began. “She was a pretty little thing. Sweet and gentle, and boy, could that girl cook.”

  “What happened?”

  “She passed on. We’d been married about six years when she died in childbirth. Baby died, too.”

  “I’m sorry. Fanny’s mother died in childbirth,” Michael offered, but he wasn’t really sure why.

  “It was only the good Lord that kept me from following them both into the grave,” Zeb admitted. “That and Sherman. Neither one would leave me for even a minute for fear of what I’d do to myself.”

  Michael could imagine how he might feel if Fanny died. Would he want to go on living? The thought caused him a moment of panic. What if she died while he was gone? What if she took sick and needed him?

  “Are you a God-fearin’ man?” Zeb asked.

  “Most certainly.” Michael smiled. “I learned Bible stories at my mother’s knee. My father’s, too, for that matter. Working with the boats and transporting the wealthy back and forth on the river gave me a lot of time to pray and to listen.”

  Zeb nodded. “I knew there was something about you. Just felt like when I saw you that I ought to come and talk with you. I have an idea if you want to hear it.”

  “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

  The steamer blew its whistle, and only then did Michael notice that they were heading in toward land. “Is this Skagway?”

  “No. Juneau. It’s a fair-sized settlement—another gold camp. I heard it said that prices are actually cheaper here than in Seattle. Once the stampede was on, everybody in Seattle tripled their prices. I was fortunate. I secured my stock when I first got into town, before the word got out.”

  “So you came down with the Portland and Excelsior?” Michael asked, knowing those two ships had changed the lives of many across the nation.

  “I did. Me and a million dollars worth of gold.”

  Michael’s jaw dropped. “You found a million dollars in gold?”

  “No. I found plenty, but not that much. No. The whole ship carried some sixty passengers out of the north, and together we had over a million in gold.”

  “I can’t even imagine what that would look like.” Michael strained to see the small settlement of Juneau from the ship.

  “Well, maybe you will once you work the claims for a while. That’s what my idea is. Why don’t you come work for Sherman and me? We’ll see to it that you get a fair cut. You won’t have to worry about filing your own claim, and we’re already set up and working. Most of these folks won’t see gold until next summer, but we’ll be working through the winter.”

  “Do you think I could make myself a fortune by this time next year?”

  “I do. Our claim is a good one.”

  Michael suddenly grew suspicious. “Why would you do this for me?”

  Zeb laughed. “It might sound strange, but you remind me of myself, and Sherman and I can use the extra hand. We’re not young anymore. You have your supplies, so it’s not like we’d be hard off having you there. And what might sound even crazier still, I think God put us together for a purpose. That seems as likely a reason as any I can think of.”

  Michael grinned. “God does work in mysterious ways. But what about Sherman?”

  “He’ll be glad for the help. We talked about hiring on someone. We even talked about a third man coming in as a partner. You’re younger and in better shape than either of us, so I know we’ll get a fair amount of work out of you. Say, why don’t we talk about it over some grub. I know a little place here in Juneau where we can get a decent meal. The ship will be here for hours, so we have plenty of time.”

  “Sounds good,” Michael said, returning his gaze to the town. The mountains rose up behind the settlement, displaying white crowns of snow. Michael had to admit the beauty was startling. Everything seemed so massive—so impressive. If only Fanny were here to share it.

  They were delayed leaving Juneau due to a storm, but when they finally arrived in Skagway, Michael felt a new sense of direction. He and Zeb had struck a good friendship as well as a solid agreement. Michael would work for the Stanley brothers through the winter and net twenty percent of what he found. Of course Sherman would first have to agree to the arrangement, but Zeb felt confident his brother would be willing to part with ten percent of his share in order to accumulate that much more gold. And based on what Zeb had told him they’d made from last year’s work, Michael stood to make thousands of dollars. The thought pleased him immensely.

  “Well, we’re here,” Zeb said, slapping Michael on the back. “Now the hard work
begins. You’ll have to face the Chilkoot.”

  “Is that the mountain pass you were telling me about?”

  He nodded. “There are two ways north from Skagway. One goes straight up from the town. It’s a vicious trail, though. I prefer the route out of Dyea. It’s a little town to the west of here. It’s too shallow to take a steamer in to dock, so we dock here and then hire a boat to take our supplies over. There’s a lot of Tlingits looking to make a few dollars.”

  “Klinkets?” Michael questioned. “What’s that?”

  “Local natives. They’re good folks. Peaceable types unless you cheat them.”

  “Sounds reasonable. I tend to be the same way myself,” Michael said with a grin.

  Zeb leaned closer. “We’re not going to hole up in Skagway tonight. We’ll get a boat to take us right over to Dyea. Most folks will stay here. They don’t know what they’re doing. We’ll get on over and hire us some help. You did say you had some cash to your name, didn’t you?”

  “Some. Not a whole lot.”

  “Given the fact that you’ll be making upwards to a hundred trips up and down that mountain without help, you’ll be happy to pay some of the natives to pack the goods for you.”

  “You mean there are no wagons to take the stuff? No boats?” Michael realized he knew just about as little as the rest of the newcomers.

  Zeb shook his head. “It’s hard terrain. Not at all kind. Like I said, this is a most unforgiving land. If you have any doubt about that, you’d best put it aside now. You’ll be walking most of the way. Boat ride comes after you get up and over the Chilkoot Trail.”

  “And we have to carry everything?”

  “Afraid so. Some of it can be hauled a ways by horse or mule. Not a whole lot of ’em available, though. You can sometimes pull a load. The Tlingits can make some great sledges, but they only work until you get to the pass itself.”

  “I see. Well, I suppose there’s nothing to be done about it,” Michael said, squaring his shoulders. “I’ll have to trust you on this one.”