‘‘Why do you say that?’’ Amelia asked her husband.
‘‘He might have considered our Miranda, otherwise,’’ Ephraim replied with a wink. Miranda blushed and looked to her plate, while Amelia laughed at the tease.
‘‘She would be a fair prize indeed,’’ Martin offered gallantly. He could see she was clearly embarrassed, and he hoped to win her confidence by changing the subject. He might need Miranda Colton’s allegiance at a later date, and he wanted very much for her to consider him a friend. ‘‘I am quite pleased with the profits of our business arrangements. I had meant to address the issue earlier.’’
Ephraim nodded. ‘‘The news just gets better with each trip north. My son is quite exuberant about his own venture in Dyea. He hopes to continue in business by building a small general store of his own. I hope you do not consider this as too much of a rivalry.’’
‘‘Not at all,’’ Martin replied. ‘‘As is my understanding of the area, there appears to be room for all.’’
‘‘Very true. The harbors are poor in Dyea, but that is quickly resolved by building wharfs and docks. As it stands, a ship may drop anchor in deep water and allow barges to take the goods ashore. It’s more time-consuming, but for those who prefer to begin their journey from Dyea, it truly becomes more economical.’’
‘‘And what of Skagway?’’ Martin asked, already knowing the answer from his own hours of research.
‘‘Skagway is good for shipping. The town is booming, as is Dyea. The passage north from Skagway allows for horses and wagons. At least this is what I’m told. There is some talk of a railroad. I wouldn’t count on that, however. The talk can hardly be trusted as more than rumors and innuendoes. I can’t imagine trying to cut a path through that wilderness.’’
‘‘People said the same of our western frontier,’’ Martin replied, knowing well the plans for a railroad north. He even hoped to put himself at the center of such a venture. ‘‘Look at us now. Railroads crisscross the country and everyone rides the train.’’
‘‘Believe me, I know how plentiful those iron beasts have become,’’ Ephraim said. ‘‘My business has suffered until now because of it.’’
‘‘There will always be room for ships and railroads alike. I wouldn’t allow it to cause you any more worry. What matters is planning. You have to think toward the future and realize what potential awaits you there. You have to decide what it is you want out of life, then take it.’’
Ephraim chuckled. ‘‘I wish I had more of your enthusiasm. Peter tells me I lack the type of business acumen that would see us as wealthy people, but truly I have no desire to be wealthy.’’
Martin couldn’t imagine any man feeling like this. ‘‘What is it you desire?’’
‘‘I have all that I could hope for. A loving wife and two wonderful children. I have a home to offer them and the means to earn a living. What more could any man desire?’’
Martin knew there was plenty more to be desired, but he said nothing. Smiling, he raised his glass. ‘‘To desires that are fulfilled,’’ he toasted.
Later, in the privacy of the best cabin on board Summer Song, Martin leisurely enjoyed a cigar and reread a rather unexpected letter from Myrtle Hawkins. The woman had taken his news rather stoically. He had expected tears and sobs at the knowledge of her husband’s betrayal, and instead she had remained calm, collected, and even-tempered. People like that unnerved him.
‘‘My mother was your husband’s lover,’’ he had told her with great satisfaction. Here at last was the threat that had sent Frederick Hawkins to his deathbed. Here was revenge for his mother, so painfully wronged.
‘‘She was a beauty, my mother.’’ He had pulled a photograph of her from his pocket and offered it to Myrtle. ‘‘Wouldn’t you like to see what took your husband away from you for long weeks and months?’’
She had studied the photograph for a moment before handing it back to Martin. Her color had paled somewhat, but she remained in complete control of her emotions. ‘‘She is a very pretty woman.’’
‘‘Was,’’ he corrected. ‘‘She died and your husband killed her.’’
That had brought a bit of response from Mrs. Hawkins. Her eyes had grown wide and her brows had raised involuntarily.
‘‘They had a torrid love affair. He cherished her for a time. He gave her everything she needed.’’
‘‘Are you his son?’’ she had asked flatly, her expression recovering to one of neutrality.
Paxton had smiled. ‘‘I could lie and say I was, but it really doesn’t benefit my case. No. I am not Frederick Hawkins’ son.’’
Martin drew long and thoughtfully on the cigar. The cherry tip glowed in the dimly lit cabin. Hawkins had died without Martin ever having a chance to gloat over the fact that Myrtle now knew every detail of his wicked past. He would have liked to have seen the pained expression on Hawkins’ face when he realized that his beloved wife knew all about his mistress. Better yet, he would have liked to have seen the woman cast the dying man aside. That would have been perfect in his estimation, for it was no less than Hawkins did for Martin’s mother. But Myrtle Hawkins had remained at her husband’s side—faithful and true to the end.
Perhaps that was why the woman’s letter was of such particular distaste to him now. He scanned the pages and found the part that stole his delight.
My husband never knew of your declarations to me. I saw it served no purpose but yours to give him such information, and therefore chose instead to allow the man to go to his grave in peace and comfort. He died believing that I never knew of his shame—that he had preserved his marriage and family.
Martin tensed at the statement. So smug and victorious. Mrs. Hawkins actually believed she had won some small victory. But it was Martin Paxton who had won. The entire world could see it, he told himself. He now held most of Hawkins’ holdings and controlled many of his former businesses. He had forced the sale of the house and estates and now held the proceeds of those sales as well. Myrtle Hawkins had won nothing.
He looked again to the letter, frowning at the feminine script.
I pray God deals justly with you, Mr. Paxton. I know of no man who deserves justice more surely than you. You have done what you set out to do, but I will tell you that the outcome is not what you expected. Instead of destroying my family, you have only made it stronger. You have no more power over us, and we will now go forward in a better life.
The only thing in life worth living for is love—something you will probably never understand. Grace understands it, however. And I finally understand it too. You can do nothing more to harm us, Mr. Paxton. It is now your mortal soul for which I fear.
He scowled and tossed the letter to the table beside him. ‘‘You needn’t fear for my soul, Mrs. Hawkins, and you needn’t be so sure there is nothing more I can do to harm you.’’
He picked up another piece of paper and read the information aloud.
‘‘ ‘Grace Hawkins left Seattle for Skagway. There are no records of where she went after arriving, but her name does not appear on the Canadian records showing her to have gone north.’ ’’ Paxton smiled and stretched out his legs in front of him.
‘‘Soon, my dear. Soon. We shall have a reckoning, and when we are through, you will be nothing more than a brief entry in my memory. A dalliance—a pleasurable moment—a recompense for my mother.’’
22
—[ CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO ]—
PETER ARRIVED IN SKAGWAY a day before the scheduled arrival of his father’s ship. Feeling a deep sense of confusion and frustration over his father’s recent decision to expand his business relationship with Martin Paxton, Peter found himself in a foul mood. He knew his father respected Paxton as a longtime friend, but the idea that another man, a complete stranger to Peter, could come in and so influence his father bothered Peter more than he liked to admit.
Snow lightly blanketed the ground, making a vast improvement on the appearance of the small boomtown, but even this didn�
�t help to lighten Peter’s heart. He felt overwhelmed with concerns he’d never before considered to be of importance. Not only was his father making choices without seeking Peter’s advice, but Grace Hawkins had made him reevaluate his entire method of dealing with life and his family.
He had never seen himself ruling over his family in a Godlike way, yet given his current feelings, Peter couldn’t help but realize Grace had made a good point. This only served to make matters worse, however. Peter had no desire to see himself as the kind of man Grace had described, and yet he had no desire to relinquish the position of respect and authority his family had delegated to him.
I’m a grown man, he reasoned. Things like this shouldn’t be of such concern. Under other circumstances I would have married and perhaps even produced heirs by now. The thought had crossed his mind on occasion, and now with Grace in his life, it cornered his thoughts on more than fleeting moments. Thoughts of Grace had rapidly infiltrated his daily existence.
But if he married, what would become of his family? His father had little practical sense when it came to business. Never mind that the man had managed his shipping line for longer than Peter had been alive. After all, Colton Shipping had aspired to be nothing more than a local freighting line before Peter became old enough to push for further development. Peter had helped the company expand—to reach its fullest potential. What would happen if he bowed out now?
‘‘Martin Paxton would happen,’’ he muttered. He didn’t even know the man, and already he felt a sense of competition with him. All of his life Peter had heard Martin and Martin’s mother spoken of in a way that devoted a familylike closeness. Peter’s father practically considered Martin’s mother to be a sister. He didn’t know any real details of their past, only that the family had been friends with his own back East, but apparently Martin Paxton had grown into a man of considerable power and wealth. Perhaps that was what bothered Peter the most. Paxton was successful in Ephraim Colton’s eyes, while Peter was merely the son helping to run a business, which up until recently had been failing. Did his father see him as a failure as well?
‘‘But people will always fail. We are, after all, human,’’ Grace had told him.
The words were still ringing in his ears even now, weeks later. Had his family perceived him to have failed? Had he not met their needs somehow? Perhaps he should broach the subject with his father and ask for the truth.
Peter thought about this long and hard as he hopped a ride on a barge up the inlet to Dyea. His anticipation of seeing Grace again was blended with a sorrow that she could not be the woman he desired her to be. Why couldn’t she be more like Miranda? Miranda adores me, he thought. Miranda would never question me or consider my counsel to be less than the best. Grace thinks me to be overbearing. She believes me to have placed unfair demands on my family.
‘‘You have put yourself in the position to be a god to your family. You ask them to seek you for their counsel and direction,’’ Grace had said.
So what’s wrong with that? Peter questioned silently. He argued the matter internally, knowing that he needed to be able to share his answer with Grace. But logic would not win out. Instead, he again heard the petite woman’s comments.
‘‘I fear your family might suffer far more than they would ever need to suffer if you continue to fight God for first place in their lives.’’
She’s full of religious nonsense, Peter decided. She’s been brought up in such a way that she simply doesn’t understand how men must be in charge to see to their family’s well-being. I’ve not chosen to usurp God—on the contrary. God is in His heaven and I am here. It only stands to reason that God would choose certain emissaries to guide the people of this earth. Surely Grace had not considered that. He smiled to himself. That had to be the answer. She was a very young woman. Perhaps she was simply ignorant of such matters. After all, her mentor was strong in her beliefs of women’s rights, yet Grace’s father arranged his daughter’s marriage and future. In her simplistic manner, Grace was most likely confused by such contrasts. The thought comforted Peter and gave him new ideas for how to handle future discussions.
A fine, icy rain began to pelt Peter, stinging his face. Grateful for his heavy wool coat, he snugged down his cap and wrapped a woolen scarf around his face. A bitter wind blew from the northern snow-capped mountains. He pitied those who were probably even now trekking their way up and over the extensive passes. And all for the hope of seeing their first hint of gold. All for that elusive rock. Why was it so hard to see that the real gold was here in Dyea or Skagway? A man could get rich with nothing more than a tent and a stack of goods.
Given this scenario, Peter had foreseen great things for Colton Shipping. Had his father not committed to Martin Paxton’s plans, Peter would have had them completely out of debt in another month. He’d planned to announce the news to his parents when they’d last been together in San Francisco, but that plan had been thwarted when his father delivered the news of his own venture with Paxton.
Again Peter felt the pinch of his father’s decision. What if they no longer needed him? Worse yet, what if Grace was right? What if he had set himself up to be their god? Where did mere mortals go when they were cast from their lofty perches—no longer to serve as elevated deities? The thought haunted him all the way to his destination.
‘‘Well, I must say, you’re a welcomed sight for once.’’
The voice belonged to Karen Pierce, but it was Grace Hawkins who captured Peter’s attention as he entered the tent store.
‘‘Good day to you, ladies.’’
Grace smiled sweetly. ‘‘Good day to you, Captain Colton.’’
Karen pretended to be busy packing blankets into a crate, but Peter could tell she was hardly focused on her work. Both she and Grace wore layers of clothes, along with their coats. Apparently with the traffic that frequented the store, keeping the interior warm was most difficult.
‘‘So I suppose I must ask,’’ Peter said, feeling rather like an animal about to be trapped, ‘‘why is it that you welcome my appearance this day?’’
Karen didn’t even look up from her work. ‘‘We need to make a decision now about moving the store. If you aren’t planning to do so, you may well have to run it on your own because we’re moving.’’
Peter shook his head and looked to Grace for an explanation. It was then that he noticed Grace was also packing items into a crate. She exchanged a glance with Peter before quickly turning her attention back to her task.
‘‘Well, it is very cold,’’ she suggested. ‘‘We manage well enough in the back, but even so, the nights are difficult.’’
Peter nodded. ‘‘But I have a feeling there’s something more to this than the weather. In truth, I had planned to move the store with this visit, but I haven’t yet chosen a site. There is a gentleman in town who has the ability to build up a place overnight. He charges a considerable sum, but he’s quite good and very much in demand.’’
‘‘We know all about him,’’ Karen replied. ‘‘We’ve been after him for weeks, but he’s too busy making outrageous profits to worry over a trio of women who have to live in fear of their lives.’’
‘‘What is she talking about?’’ Peter questioned Grace.
‘‘Karen will have to explain,’’ Grace replied. ‘‘I only saw the aftermath. She’d already shot the man by the time I came to her side.’’
‘‘What!’’ Peter roared the word, not meaning to frighten them. He felt bad when both women jumped at least a foot in the air. His tone brought Leah and Doris running from the back. Doris held a fairly heavy pickax in her hands and looked as though she might even know how to use it.
‘‘It’s all right, Aunt Doris,’’ Karen said, turning to comfort the older woman. ‘‘Captain Colton is just now learning of our trouble the other night. You and Leah go back where it’s warm and we’ll continue explaining. If he yells again, just ignore him.’’
‘‘Oh my,’’ Doris said, not at all interest
ed in heeding her niece. ‘‘Has she told you of our peril?’’
‘‘Grace said Karen shot a man.’’
‘‘She did,’’ Leah threw in, ‘‘but she didn’t kill him. He’s been run clean out of town. They put him on the first ship south.’’
Peter’s head was reeling. ‘‘Why did you shoot the man?’’
Karen finally allowed her gaze to meet his. He noted the stoic manner in which she fixed her expression, but he couldn’t ignore the fear in her eyes.
‘‘I shot him because he wouldn’t leave and he and his friends were threatening us with bodily harm. I’m sure I needn’t go into more detail than that.’’
Peter felt sickened at the thought of what might have happened. Perhaps he should be grateful that these women were cut from a different cloth. Maybe Karen Pierce’s strength and fortitude were a blessing in disguise. ‘‘Well, that’s it,’’ Peter replied. ‘‘You won’t go long without a building. I’ll see to it immediately. I shouldn’t have been so eager to pay old debts. I should have insisted this tent be traded for a building.’’
‘‘Don’t be hard on yourself, Captain,’’ Grace said, coming forward. ‘‘We have enough money to put together a payment for a small place, but no one has had the time. Most of the men have gold fever and little time for constructing homes or businesses. It’s just as Karen said, we would have to pay double or even triple to have their consideration. We thought to have help from a local guide and a Tlingit Indian man, but they’ve both disappeared and we’ve had no word from them in a long while.’’
‘‘Not since he sent word through Mr. Barringer that my father is delayed in a quarantined village.’’
Peter nodded. ‘‘I’m sorry to hear that. But what of Mr. Barringer? What of his son? They both appear to be strong, healthy men. Could they not lend their hand to constructing a building?’’
‘‘Bill Barringer has taken up a job of packing people and their goods up to the summit of Chilkoot Pass. He returns to see us only on occasion,’’ Grace told Peter. ‘‘Jacob has been working off and on in a variety of jobs, but he’s hardly more than a boy.’’
[Yukon Quest 01] - Treasures Of The North Page 21
