[Yukon Quest 01] - Treasures Of The North

by Tracie Peterson

  ‘‘More money, too?’’ Leah asked hopefully.

  Bill smiled. ‘‘You bet, princess. More people always means more money. People go where the money’s to be had. You’ll see. We’ll be on our way before you know it.’’

  They all sighed in relief when they finally found their way to Granny Richards’. The little run-down house wasn’t much to look at, but it beckoned them nevertheless. Bill spotted Granny first thing. She was working the rocky soil at the side of the house. She seemed to work in a rhythm. Hoe a patch, pick out the rocks. Hoe a patch, pick out the rocks.

  ‘‘Granny!’’ Bill called, jumping off the rickety buckboard.

  The old woman looked up and put her hand to her head to shield her eyes from the sun. Lacking the funds and not caring one whit about convention, Granny saved her only straw bonnet for Sundays and church. Because of this, her skin was leathery and brown from the harsh Colorado sun.

  ‘‘Bill? Bill Barringer?’’ she questioned, limping forward in an awkward manner. No doubt her rheumatism was taking its toll, Bill surmised.

  ‘‘It’s me,’’ he called and went forward to greet her.

  The old woman hugged him with an impressive grip. ‘‘So you’ve come back down out of the clouds.’’

  ‘‘I have, Granny, but only for the moment.’’ He grinned. ‘‘I was wonderin’ if you could put me and the kids up for a few days?’’

  Granny looked past him to the wagon. ‘‘Where’s Patience?’’

  Bill looked to the ground. ‘‘Uh, Granny, she passed on.’’

  The old woman looked up and nodded. ‘‘The mountains are hard on folks, and your little Patience wasn’t much more than a mite. How’d it happen?’’

  ‘‘She was trying to deliver a baby. Midwife said she was too small.’’

  Again Granny nodded. ‘‘Just a mite. Just a mite. Well, God rest her soul.’’

  Bill fumbled for the words. ‘‘I’m . . . well . . . I mean, the children and me—’’

  ‘‘No nevermind about explaining. You just bring down your things and come inside. Old Granny will fix you up with something to eat, and then we can discuss your plans.’’

  Two hours and a full belly later, Bill found Jacob and Leah stretched out asleep on Granny’s bed. He closed the door so as not to disturb them, then went to join Granny for another cup of coffee.

  ‘‘Heard about gold in the Yukon,’’ he said, as if Granny had asked him where he was headed. ‘‘Nuggets as big as a man’s head. Just lyin’ around for the takin’.’’

  ‘‘It always is, isn’t it?’’ Granny asked in a knowing tone. She looked at him with steely blue eyes that seemed to bore right through him. ‘‘Have you heard tell yet of a gold rush where the nuggets weren’t as big as your head? What would the attraction be otherwise?’’

  Bill shrugged. ‘‘I saw the newspaper. They had a picture and everything. Two boats, one in Seattle and one in San Francisco, and both of them loaded down with gold.’’

  ‘‘Until you see it firsthand,’’ Granny suggested, ‘‘it’s still just a rumor.’’

  ‘‘No, Granny, these aren’t just rumors. The papers wouldn’t have run the story otherwise.’’

  She laughed. ‘‘Put a lot of stock in papers, do you, boy?’’

  ‘‘Not near as much as in pictures,’’ Bill admitted. ‘‘I saw the pictures. I’m tellin’ you, Granny, there’s gold in the Yukon.’’

  ‘‘Bah! Who needs it? Better to do a decent day’s job and be paid a decent wage.’’

  ‘‘Well, that’s why I’m here,’’ he said, finishing off the coffee. ‘‘I plan to get me enough for the trip north, anyhow.’’

  ‘‘What about them young’uns?’’

  ‘‘They’re coming with me. They’ll enjoy the adventure.’’

  ‘‘What about schoolin’? Their ma, as I recall, held a high opinion of schoolin’.’’

  Bill nodded. ‘‘Yes, she did. I’m certain there are schools up north. We’re not the only civilized folks in the world, after all.’’

  Granny went to the cupboard and took out a big yellow bowl. She went to the counter and put a smaller, red bowl heaping with green beans inside the first bowl. Bringing both to the table, she sat down and began to snap beans. ‘‘So what kind of work you thinkin’ to find here?’’

  ‘‘Whatever makes me fast money. I can still deal a pretty fair game of cards,’’ Bill said with a smile. ‘‘You know how it goes, Granny.’’

  ‘‘Indeed I do,’’ she answered. ‘‘I remember you gettin’ into a fair heap of trouble with them cards, too.’’

  Bill shrugged. ‘‘I was just a boy then. Patience . . . well, she changed my mind about games of chance. Guess her death has changed my mind again. At least it’s a way to lay my hands on some cash.’’

  ‘‘Don’t reckon I can talk you out of it. Hate to see you spending your nights in places better left unvisited. Laws have changed, don’t you know. Some of them activities are more likely to see you in jail rather than the bank.’’

  ‘‘I don’t plan to put myself in too much danger,’’ he told her. He thought of Patience and how she would have given him the devil for even considering what he was about to do. He had to have money, however, and he had to have it fast. Anyone who understood gold rushes knew that you had to act without hesitation. If not, the land got snapped up before you even had a chance to show your face in the territory.

  ‘‘Well, the young’uns can stay here with me. The garden needs weedin’ and waterin’. There’s always something they can help with.’’

  ‘‘Jacob’s big enough to get a job of his own,’’ Bill said rather thoughtfully. He’d not thought of putting his son to work until just that moment. ‘‘Maybe he could deliver groceries or shine shoes. He’s good with horses. Maybe he could work at one of the liveries.’’

  ‘‘Could be. Sounds a heap better than what you have in mind.’’

  Bill yawned and rubbed his bearded chin. ‘‘A man has to do what a man has to do, Granny.’’

  ‘‘Especially when he’s got no woman to fuss over him and keep him on the straight and narrow path.’’

  Bill felt his throat constrict, guilt washing over him. Patience had always talked about the straight and narrow path. She believed that God’s way was far more narrow a path than most folks wanted to believe. Bill considered himself a rather religious man, but he knew God understood when he ventured off the path to one side or the other. In fact, he believed God looked the other way in some of those particularly messy points of life.

  ‘‘I saw you had a stack of wood in the back,’’ he said, suddenly unable to deal with his own discomfort. ‘‘I’ll just mosey on back there and split some of it for you. I want to earn my keep, after all.’’

  ‘‘You’d earn it a sight better doing that than gambling it away or dealing in some other underhanded fashion,’’ Granny said, never looking up from her beans. ‘‘Suit yourself.’’

  Jacob woke up in a pool of sweat. The heat of the Denver afternoon had joined together with a hideous nightmare of being thrown into the pits of hell. Trembling, Jacob eased off the bed so as not to disturb Leah. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and tried to steady his rapid breathing.

  From the time he’d been little, Jacob had known that his mother’s fondest wish was for him to accept Jesus as his Savior. In all the days that had followed from that first introduction to the Gospel message, Jacob had known that someday he would be left with a choice between deciding for God—or against Him. But someday always seemed far away. At least it had back then.

  Years ago, he had figured his folks to live forever. The reality of death made little impact on his world. He’d known of folks who’d passed on. Had even heard stories of his grandparents and how they had died, but death didn’t seem anything so immediate that he needed to actually make a commitment to God. After all, his mother said, it would be the most important decision in his life.

  ‘‘Don’t promise
God anything, Jacob, unless you intend to keep that promise,’’ she had said. ‘‘Even the Word says it’s better to make no vow at all than to make one and then not keep it.’’

  So Jacob had made no vow. Much to his mother’s disappointment.

  Now in the dark, musty room, Jacob felt overwhelmed with grief. His knowing God was the one thing his mother had longed for, and he hadn’t even been able to give it to her on her deathbed. He shivered in spite of the heat. He could still see her eyes fixed on his face.

  ‘‘God knows your heart, Jacob Daniel,’’ she had whispered. ‘‘He knows your mind. Whatever it is that’s troubling you about saying yes to Him—He already knows.’’

  Jacob had supposed she had told him this to make him feel better, but instead it only bothered him more. If God knew—truly knew his heart and mind—then He knew that Jacob was a coward.

  Leaning against the wall for support, Jacob bit his lower lip to keep from crying. He’d failed his mother and he’d failed God. What hope could there be now?

  7

  —[ CHAPTER SEVEN ]—

  CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

  ‘‘BUT, FREDERICK,’’ Myrtle Hawkins tried to reason with her husband, ‘‘it’s impossible to give our daughter the wedding she deserves on such short notice. Why, July twenty-fourth is scarcely but days away.’’

  ‘‘It’s just under a week. Good grief, woman, God only needed a week to create the entire world. Do you mean to tell me a wedding takes more than that?’’

  Myrtle tried to soften her tone. ‘‘My dear, I am hardly divine. I can’t possibly be called upon to perform miracles. A proper wedding takes months to plan, organize, and prepare.’’

  ‘‘Well, you have five days. I suggest you get on with the arrangements.’’

  Myrtle folded her hands and tried hard not to lose her temper. She had already told Grace that this would be her final effort to get Frederick to see reason. If he refused, then Grace would accompany Doris and Karen north to Alaska.

  ‘‘Freddy,’’ she said, using her old nickname for him, ‘‘our daughter has pleaded to be heard on this matter. Won’t you reconsider?’’

  Frederick Hawkins looked up from his paper. ‘‘I should certainly reconsider the matter if it were in her best interest, but it is not. I’ve tried to explain this to you. . . .’’ His words trailed off as he looked suspiciously at the table maid. ‘‘Leave us!’’ he commanded, and the young woman scurried from the room as if her skirts were afire.

  Leaning toward Myrtle’s side of the table, Frederick lowered his voice. ‘‘This wedding is imperative. I can say no more. Our family will see ruin if we refuse Mr. Paxton.’’

  ‘‘But surely what the man has in mind—this blackmail—’’ Myrtle protested, ‘‘it can’t be legal. Can’t we go to the police or the courts? We have good lawyers on retainer; can we not present the case to them and allow them to earn their money?’’

  ‘‘No!’’ Frederick said, pounding his fist down on the table. ‘‘Confound it, woman, if you do not hear anything else I say, then hear this. Our Grace will marry Martin Paxton on July twenty-fourth. You will plan out the wedding and provide what comforts you can. There will be no other discussion on the matter.’’

  Myrtle realized in that moment that her husband had just set her plans into motion. Forgive me, God, if this is wrong, but I can’t help but feel that I’m saving Grace from complete destruction, she silently prayed.

  Getting to her feet, Myrtle swept the train of her gown aside. ‘‘Very well, Frederick. I will go forward with my plans.’’ At least she wasn’t lying.

  ‘‘You’ll see in the long run that it’s all for the best,’’ he assured.

  ‘‘I hope you’ll try to remember those words,’’ Myrtle replied. ‘‘I hope when Grace is far from us and you are lying awake at night wondering if you made the right decision . . . I hope your words still ring true.’’

  He said nothing, but the expression on his face spoke volumes. Myrtle wanted nothing more than to burst into tears, but she was no young maid to be given to moments of emotional waterworks. As a matron of society she had often had to stand her ground in stoic fashion. She would lend an illusion of wedding preparation to their home, but all the while she would be plotting with Grace for her escape.

  ‘‘Aunt Doris said the actresses will come tomorrow at exactly seven o’clock,’’ Karen confided to Myrtle and Grace. ‘‘They will be dressed as maids and appear for all purposes to have come from one of the local agencies in order to help with the wedding.’’

  ‘‘Wonderful!’’ Myrtle declared. ‘‘I will ring up and have other girls sent over as well. That way they may all mingle together. No one will be the wiser.’’

  ‘‘I thought you might see the benefit in such a ruse,’’ Karen replied.

  Grace noticed the worry lines around her mother’s eyes. She looked so tired and so worn from the events of the last few days. ‘‘Mother, are you certain that when all is said and done, you and Father will be able to patch this up?’’

  Myrtle patted her daughter’s hand. ‘‘I know my husband very well. I know him so well, in fact, that I know this Mr. Paxton has done more than cause him to build an indebtedness in monetary means. No, there is more to this than meets the eye, and once you are safely away, I intend to know what it is all about. Frederick will calm down and see the sense of it. Whatever the price, it will be worth knowing that you are protected.’’

  ‘‘But I don’t feel that way. I don’t wish to be protected at all cost,’’ Grace protested. ‘‘If it means that either you or Father are left to suffer, then I want no part of that.’’

  ‘‘We won’t suffer, my dear. Just remember that. I have the jewels and other trinkets that can be sold. And there is property and such that can also be arranged for. Do not worry about us.’’

  Grace nodded, but her heart felt even more heavy. Her mother had already given them a great deal of money. Money that Grace wasn’t entirely sure couldn’t be better spent elsewhere. Perhaps even in buying off Mr. Paxton.

  The next twenty-four hours passed in a flurry of activities for Grace. Her father presumed her to be resolved to the wedding, and at one point over breakfast he had even made a rather pleasant speech about how this choice would have a way of benefiting them all in the long run. He was certain Grace could come to care for Paxton, while Grace knew in her heart that she had no intention of ever caring for the man.

  After lunch in the afternoon, Grace and Karen pretended to be busy fitting Myrtle’s wedding dress to Grace’s more slender frame. No one anticipated seeing the women for the rest of the afternoon, and when dinner came and Grace pleaded a headache, no one thought it amiss that she should take her meal upstairs in the privacy of her room.

  By seven o’clock, the temporary maids arrived and with them two actresses who were rather eager for their parts. Slipping the two women upstairs, Myrtle Hawkins met with Karen and Grace to listen to the final plans.

  ‘‘This is Mavis and Celia,’’ Karen explained. ‘‘Mavis will pretend to be Grace and Celia will be me. They will leave in the morning for a day of shopping. Should anyone be watching them, they will see the ladies in the carriage, making arrangements for Grace’s trousseau.

  ‘‘Meanwhile, dressed in their clothes,’’ Karen continued, ‘‘Grace and I will accompany several of the maids on various tasks that you have outlined.’’

  Myrtle nodded. ‘‘I have a list already prepared.’’

  ‘‘Good,’’ Karen replied. ‘‘Have it designed so that at the appropriate time, Grace and I can slip away unnoticed. Perhaps at the market.’’

  Myrtle smiled. ‘‘That would work perfectly. I can assign each of those who accompany you to different tasks. One can go to the baker and one to the florist.’’

  ‘‘Exactly. If anyone is watching, which hopefully they won’t be if they believe us to be nothing more than servants, they’ll suspect nothing,’’ Karen replied.

  ‘‘I do so appreciate
what all of you are doing to help my daughter,’’ Myrtle said, looking first to Karen and then to the other women. ‘‘I know that in time this will right itself and Grace will be returned to us. But in the meanwhile, I also know she will be safely kept from the ugliness of this situation.’’

  Grace frowned. That her mother expected this to develop into something ugly and distasteful worried her greatly. Certainly she expected Paxton to be angry, even threatening, but he was a businessman and as such, surely even he would recognize there to be more power in keeping her father on his feet than in defeating him. He might never recoup the full extent of his losses otherwise.

  Sleep came fitfully to Grace that night. The biggest worry they had was how to arrange clothing and traveling needs for the two women. Karen had finally hit upon having a couple of the carriage servants deliver two crates marked Oranges to her aunt. Inside would be trunks of neatly folded clothes, shoes, and other personal articles. When Karen and Grace finally made it to Doris, they would simply change clothes and slip away to the railway station, hopefully unnoticed.

  Hopefully. It wasn’t a word that held the greatest reassurance for Grace. Sitting up, unable to sleep, Grace drew her knees to her chest and tried to pray. Oh, how hard it was to pray when her world seemed amiss and words refused to come. She rocked back and forth, laboring to voice her petition to God, but her mind refused the order she so longed for. Rational thought was not possible.

  I hope God understands. Surely He does, she reasoned. He is, after all, God. He knows all—sees all.

  Outside a summer storm raged over the city, flashing brilliant streaks of lightning. In those moments when her room was illuminated ever so briefly, Grace caught glimpses of her many beloved possessions—her vanity chest lined with all kinds of perfumes and accessories, her books and cherished trinkets from childhood. How could she leave them all?

  They are so much a part of me, she thought. Her doll collection was extensive and had been started when she was born. There were eighteen very special dolls, one given each year of her life. After that, her father had chided her when she’d questioned why the dolls had stopped. Instead, very prim and proper gifts were received. A carriage of her own with matching bays. New bedroom furnishings. Those were the type of gifts a grown woman of means might receive. The dolls, like her childhood and innocence, were to be packed away and given to another.