Ashes and Ice

by Tracie Peterson

  “Crispin Thibault!” Adrik called out as he bounded from the tent. “In all the world I never thought I’d find you here.” He laughed heartily and waited as the man stood in greeting before wrapping him in a big bear hug.

  “Adrik Ivankov, still the bear of the north, I see,” Crispin said with a laugh that betrayed his absolute delight. “I saw Joe and figured you had to be close by. Then I spied your red-and-white flag and knew it had to be you.” Crispin pointed to the strip of material Adrik kept tied to his tent flap. This same type of material was tied to the caches that represented the group’s supplies.

  Adrik had used the red-and-white material to mark his tent since he’d been a boy. His father had taught him this simple method for identification. It was almost as good as paint- ing numbers on the doorpost of a house, and in some ways it was even better. Friends knew each others’ markings, while strangers had no idea of the significance.

  “What brings you back to Alaska?” Adrik questioned.

  Crispin shrugged. “Gold—what else? I was residing very comfortably in the house of one of my French cousins when all this gold rush news came to entice us. I thought, why not travel north and see my old friend Adrik? I figured I’d find you in Sitka but heard tell you’d taken to living on the coast at Dyea.”

  Adrik nodded. “Been there a little over six years, off and on. I still travel more than I stay in one place. That’s why I live in a tent instead of a house.”

  “You should come to stay with my French cousins,” Crispin teased. “You’d not willingly go back to tenting.”

  “Maybe you have a point at that. So what news have you brought us? The communications are poor up here. We’re lucky if we get a newspaper from Seattle now and then. What of the problems with Spain?”

  “Well, let me think,” Crispin said, looking rather thoughtful. “President McKinley has called for seventy-five thousand more volunteers to help out with this misunderstanding.”

  “It’s a bit more than a misunderstanding. They blew up the Maine,” Adrik replied. “We can’t be havin’ that.”

  “The rest of the world, including your Russia, has asked President McKinley for a peaceful end to this matter.”

  “It’s not my Russia. I’m an American. I was born in this territory and plan to remain here,” Adrik said, adding, “This land has been pretty good to the both of us, and it didn’t happen by letting other folks push us around.”

  “Be that as it may, America may well fight this war alone.”

  “I’m sure we won’t fight alone,” Adrik replied with great confidence. “We’ll fight with God on our side.”

  Crispin laughed. “You Americans are always believing such nonsense. I think winning your revolution went to your heads.”

  “You sound like an Englishman.”

  “Forbid that!” Crispin declared rather dramatically. “My dear departed mother would swoon if she heard it said that I remotely resembled those tyrants. She’d rather I be called an American!”

  “Now, that’s a thought,” Adrik said, slapping Crispin on the back with a hearty laugh.

  “What’s all the commotion?” Karen asked as she emerged from her tent. Miranda Colton was on her heels, tucking her long braided hair into the confines of a warm wool bonnet.

  “Come meet my good friend Crispin Thibault,” Adrik called. He motioned to Karen and Miranda. “I’ve not seen him in, what? Seven years?”

  “To be sure,” Crispin replied, his gaze fixed on the ladies. “My, but you travel in much prettier company than when I left you.”

  Adrik laughed. “There’s two more just as pretty inside the tent, but these will do for starts. This is Karen Pierce and Miranda Colton.”

  Crispin drew his six-foot-three-inch frame to full attention, then gave a deep bow. “Ladies, I am charmed.” He straightened and grinned at Adrik. “You are a man of many surprises.”

  “Not half as many as you, my old friend,” Adrik leaned closer to Karen and added, “It is rumored that our Mr. Thibault is in line for the throne of some small European principality.”

  “How very interesting,” Karen said, nudging Miranda. “We’re in the presence of royalty.”

  “Nonsense!” Crispin declared rather theatrically. He waved his arm and lifted his face to the cloudy skies. “It is a very minor principality, indeed, and my place in line is a dozen or more cousins away from ever being crowned.” He lowered his face and leaned toward Karen as though he would tell her a great secret. “Perhaps if I strike it rich, however, I may yet buy myself a throne.”

  Miranda giggled and even Karen smiled.

  “So who are you traveling with?” Adrik asked, not entirely happy to find Crispin’s attention so strongly focused on Karen.

  “I came up with a rather disgruntled group who call themselves by the family name of Meyer. I dare say, I’ve little desire to go the course with these very unpleasant folk and thought I’d appeal to you, Adrik. Might I join you and your . . .” his voice fell away as Grace and Leah pushed back the flaps of the tent and joined Miranda and Karen. They looked to Adrik as if questioning him about Crispin’s identity. Crispin leaned closer to Adrik and added, “Gentle women?”

  Karen turned to Grace and Leah. “This is Adrik’s friend Mr. Thibault. He is of some European aristocracy, and we must be very nice to him, as he plans to buy himself a throne.”

  “Oh!” Leah said, her mouth round in surprise. “Are you a king?”

  Crispin laughed and bowed low before Leah. “Not at all, but I dare say, you are surely a princess.”

  Leah’s expression fell and her frown surprised them all. She turned rather abruptly and ran off toward the river, leaving them all in stunned surprise.

  “What was that all about?” Adrik questioned, looking to Karen for answers.

  “Her father is believed dead,” Karen said, looking to Crispin. “He used to call her that. I’ll go talk to her.”

  “No, please, allow me,” Crispin begged. “For I am the offending person.”

  “You are also a stranger,” Karen replied.

  Crispin smiled and pulled the woolen cap from atop his head. “I do not wish to be a stranger to either of you. I would be most stricken, however, if you refused me this. I feel quite bad for having hurt the young lady.”

  Karen looked to the tent and then to Adrik. Adrik nodded, knowing she was looking for his approval of the situation. “Her name is Leah Barringer and she’s just turned thirteen. I do not believe she’s very well acquainted with the . . . shall we say . . . charms of aristocracy.” She eyed the taller man with great intensity, and Adrik might have laughed out loud had the matter not involved the child’s feelings. Crispin was no threat to anyone; he knew that as well as he knew his own name. The man was one of the most sensitive and caring fellows Adrik had ever known, in fact, and should Karen deny his request, Adrik knew it would have cast a cloud of despair over his friend.

  “I shall endeavor to prove myself worthy of your trust, my dear lady.” He lifted her hand and placed a kiss atop her fingers.

  Karen, still very serious about the entire matter, nodded as Crispin lifted his gaze. “Very well.”

  Crispin pulled his cap back on and headed after Leah. Adrik followed the gaze of the three women as they watched him disappear into the woods. He then observed as each woman looked to the others with grins that suggested they knew a secret he had not been privy to.

  “My, my,” Grace spoke first. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone quite like him.”

  “Me neither,” Miranda replied. “Did you see his hair? All those lovely black curls.”

  “And his eyes,” Karen added. “Such a dark blue, yet so bright and full of laughter.”

  “And such a regal bearing. Why, I’ve no doubt he must be from the lineage of kings,” Miranda said, straining to catch another glimpse of the man.

  Adrik rolled his eyes. Women! What a lot of nonsense. He could personally run circles around Crispin Thibault. The man possessed great endu
rance and courage, there was no doubt about that. And he was charming and quite the orator when necessary, but he wasn’t anything that special. Scratching his chin, Adrik listened to the three women chatter on and on. At first he’d been happy to see Crispin, but maybe his initial joy would be short-lived. After all, he had no intention of fighting his friend for Karen’s affection, yet she seemed just as enthralled as Miranda and Grace Colton.

  “We’re going to be striking camp in thirty minutes,” he said after hearing his fill. “I’m not waitin’ on anyone.”

  He doubted they’d even heard him, for not one of the women acknowledged him. Walking away, he met Joe’s stoic expression and shook his head. “You’ve got black hair, and I never saw them get all swoony over you.”

  Joe pulled off the white bowler and rubbed his head. “Got no curls.”

  Adrik grinned. “Me neither. But I’ve got my sights fixed on having a bunch of redheaded children someday, so I guess me and Mr. Curlylocks better have us a talk.”

  —[CHAPTER EIGHTEEN]—

  DAY AFTER DAY the little band of travelers pushed forward along with hundreds of other weary souls. Karen, Grace, and Miranda rose early every morning to pray, and it wasn’t long before Leah was joining them, as well. Whatever Crispin had said to her had remained between her and the aristocratic traveler. But her spirits were much improved, and she shared Crispin’s company very easily.

  Morning prayers and Scripture reading were helping them all to keep their perspective. Even Karen, who was still confused about her feelings toward God, seemed to thrive. And she wanted very much to thrive—to put aside her anger. The labor of each day allowed little time for such grudges. Still, there was a hesitancy in her soul, the fear of one who felt betrayed. Could she trust God again? Did she have a choice?

  Grace never tried to push her beyond her ability, and for that Karen knew a gratitude that went far beyond their years of friendship. It was as if Grace understood the pain and anger and was determined to love Karen right through it.

  Pulling on her pack, which now weighed almost thirty-five pounds, Karen squared the load and secured the belt Adrik had fashioned to keep the pack snuggly in place. Her spirit soared on the hope of a new day. With each group of stampeders they passed, Karen searched for Jacob. Sometimes she even looked for Bill, though she felt almost certain that it must have been his body Adrik had found. Leah said nothing, but Karen was certain she was beginning to accept this as truth, as well. Perhaps the young girl rationalized that it would be easier to believe him dead and accept the loss than to have hope in his existence only to lose him again. Whatever the reason, Leah said very little about her father and only mentioned Jacob.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Adrik said, coming up behind Karen to double-check her load. He adjusted the straps, then nodded. “You thinking about anything you want to share?”

  Karen licked her chapped lips and smiled. She felt her heart give a jump at the nearness of the broad-shouldered man. “I’m just contemplating the day ahead of us. Wondering if we’ll find Jacob—or Bill.”

  “I wouldn’t get your hopes up. This is almost the end of June. Jacob’s been on the road for over two months. He didn’t come up here with the tons of supplies we’re packing, so he could move a lot quicker. He probably spent time here earning some money so he could buy supplies from someone who’d made it this far but was giving up. My guess is, he’s found some group to hitch up with, and in trade for work, they’ll help him move his supplies along with their own.”

  “Well, I intend to ask around when we get to Sheep Camp. You said we’d make it today, right?”

  “We ought to, barring any unforeseen problems.”

  Karen had already begun to look forward to the little town, where Adrik promised her she could pay for a hot bath. “Your friend seems most intent on entertaining Leah and Miranda,” she finally said, motioning to where Crispin carried on with sleight-of-hand tricks.

  “They seem pretty intent on being entertained,” Adrik replied.

  “I don’t think your Mr. Thibault likes me very much,” Karen said, looking to Adrik. “I don’t suppose you know anything about that, do you?”

  Adrik’s mustache twitched at the corner as he appeared to be fighting a smile. He glanced sidelong and then toward the skies overhead. “Maybe he doesn’t like redheads.”

  Karen believed Crispin’s lack of attention had far more to do with Adrik than with her honey-red hair. “Perhaps he doesn’t.”

  Adrik leaned close and whispered in her ear. “Well, I like redheads just fine. So don’t you go worryin’ about gettin’ lonely.” He paused and dared to place a kiss upon her cheek. “I know a few tricks I can do with my hands, too.”

  Karen felt her face grow hot. “Mr. Ivankov!” She tried to sound indignant rather than impassioned, but her attempt sounded feeble even to her own ears. His name came out more closely resembling a term of endearment.

  “It’s a nice name—Ivankov. Don’t you think?” His grin broadened to a full-blown smile, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

  “I think we’d better get on the trail,” Karen said, grabbing her bonnet. She headed for the path only to hear Adrik chuckling behind her.

  “I don’t know when I’ll see you again,” Adrik called.

  Karen turned around as she tied her bonnet snug. “What are you saying?” Surely the man wasn’t going to leave her simply because she refused to play his games. She eyed him quite seriously. “You aren’t leaving us, are you?”

  “Nope, but you are if you keep heading in that direction,” Adrik replied. “Sheep Camp is that way.”

  He pointed in the opposite direction, leaving Karen little choice but to retrace her steps and walk past him once again. “You’re a scoundrel, Mr. Ivankov.”

  Adrik laughed and tipped his hat. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  ————

  “Rockslide!”

  The desperate call split the afternoon air, sending a cold sensation of dread into Miranda Colton’s heart. She had heard the rumbles of rock off and on all day as they tumbled down the canyon walls, and each time she had feared for her life. This time, however, she had good reason to fear.

  As rock and dirt began to rain down around her, Miranda froze in place, unable to remember Adrik’s instructions. Was she to try and outrun the slide? Should she back up and retrace her steps?

  Without warning, Miranda felt strong hands upon her waist. Then, as if she weighed nothing more than the pack on her back, Crispin Thibault lifted her and swung her around to flee the dangerous area.

  They crashed to the ground as Crispin lost his footing, but he rolled in such a way that he took the full impact of the fall. Miranda, although shaken, was cushioned against the man as rock and debris continued to rain down upon the path where they had stood.

  When the noise died down to little slips of pelting gravel, Miranda seemed to regain rational thinking. She stared down into the face of the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. His dark eyes were edged with ebony lashes, so thick and long it seemed almost unreasonable that they should belong to a man. Especially the man who’d just saved her life.

  “I—I—I couldn’t move,” she stammered.

  He gave her a lopsided smile. “Just as I cannot move now.”

  Miranda realized all at once that she was stretched out full atop the poor man. Without giving it another thought, she rolled to the left and found herself in peril once again. She’d managed to roll right off the side of the trail and now clung precariously to Crispin’s arm while her feet dangled in the air beneath her. With her free hand, Miranda fought to take hold of the rock and dirt on the edge of the ravine. All she managed to do, however, was pelt herself with a mouthful of earth.

  “Be still,” Crispin commanded. “I’ll pull you back up, but you must stop flailing.”

  He held her tight and again, with surprising ease, pulled her back to safety. Together they sat, side by side, panting from the momentary exertion and panic.


  “I wasn’t really complaining,” he said, catching his breath. “You needn’t have run off like that.”

  Miranda swallowed dust and grit. “I’m so sorry. I just thought . . . well . . . it seemed highly inappropriate.”

  “So does throwing yourself off the side of a mountain,” he said, grinning. He reached out with a handkerchief and wiped the dirt from her face. “Are you hurt?”

  Miranda shook her head tentatively. “I don’t think so.”

  “Crispin! Miranda! Are you two all right?” Adrik called as he climbed over the gravel and debris to reach them.

  Getting to her feet, Miranda watched as Crispin surveyed the massive pile of rock and debris. He met his friend’s worried expression with one of calm confidence. “We’re quite all right.”

  Adrik looked to Miranda and back to Crispin. “You’re neither one hurt?”

  “Not that we have ascertained,” Crispin replied. He reached down to help Miranda to her feet.

  Miranda looked to Adrik and smiled. “I’m fine. I don’t think anything is broken, unless it’s poor Mr. Thibault. I’m afraid I used him rather abusively and allowed him to break my fall.”

  Crispin exchanged a glance with Adrik. “’Twas my pleasure.”

  With a raised brow, Adrik began to laugh. “Yes, I’ll just bet it was.” He glanced back to the slide. “It’s not too bad, at least. Could have been much worse. I heard them say this road was blocked for two days last week when a slide worse than this one sent boulders big as houses down the mountain.”

  “Now if only the gold would come in boulders that size, every man would be content.”

  “Every woman, too,” Miranda added.

  “Well, let’s move out. I know the others will worry if we don’t catch up to them soon.” Adrik made his way up and over the debris and picked up his pack on the other side. “I’ll go on ahead and let them know you’re coming.”

  Miranda squared her shoulders and hiked up her skirt. What a nuisance, she thought. Men walked about in trousers and boots and no one thought twice about it. But let a woman wear trousers and the entire world considered her mad. Madness to Miranda’s way of thinking was trying to hoist heavy lengths of corduroy and wool with one hand while steadying yourself with the other.