Jenna Kernan

by Gold Rush Groom

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. That’s all said and done. And look at me now, here on a river that will carry us all the way to Dawson in your fine strong boat.” Nala rolled against her leg and groaned, glancing at her mistress, who scratched her head absently. “And should I make my fortune there, I’ll be able to help my family so they can see what a great, wide wonder the world is, as well. But I don’t know if I’ll go back myself. I’m starting to take to this territory. It seems a good place to me.”

  Jack didn’t know why it troubled him that she should wish to stay, unless it was because he knew he had to go. He had obligations back there in the States, a mother and sister. With luck and hard work he’d make his fortune and then he could choose his own bride.

  Jack glanced at Lily, knowing it was a lie, for he couldn’t really choose any bride. There were rules to any game and he needed to abide by them if he were to gain reentry to that world. He couldn’t, for instance, choose the daughter of an Irish immigrant without being shunned by one and all. It just wasn’t done.

  Jack lowered his chin and stared at the fire, smoldering with the glowing embers.

  He understood the expectations and had abided by them his whole life, never feeling their constraint. He did now.

  Lily still stared up at the rolling aurora dancing across the sky. Her profile was chiseled, with a pert, upturned nose and a sloping jaw that narrowed to her pointed chin. Her neck was stretched, revealing its long, lovely length. How he wanted to stroke it and feel her pulse race beneath his lips. She turned to him and smiled.

  “What does your father think of your grand adventure, Jack? Good sport between college and a career?”

  He was about to lie, as he would have done had anyone else asked a question that brushed so dangerously close to his family secrets. But this was Lily who had given him only honesty.

  He braced himself and began with the truth. “I don’t know what he would think. He’d be sad, I expect. Truth is, Lily, my father died before I left for the Yukon.” He paused, wanting to tell her the rest of it, but years of practice at keeping up appearances stopped him again.

  This half-truth grated. He wanted her to know what had happened because if he deceived everyone around him, even those closest to him, then how was he any different from his father?

  She took his hand. He opened his eyes to find her staring at him with the sweetest look of sympathy upon her face.

  “Well, that’s a pity, Jack.”

  Pity—no that was something he did not need from Lily. He drew back into his protective armor, letting her see only what he was willing to reveal.

  “Yes. It’s why I came actually. I am his only son. He lost everything shortly before his death. So it fell to me to settle his estate. Nasty business, dealing with creditors, banks and lawyers. They left us quite destitute.”

  She raised her brow, but her face did not register shock or the look of distaste he’d seen so often among those he had counted as friends before his fall from grace. She didn’t judge him and she didn’t turn away in embarrassment. For Lily only saw whom he had become, not whom he had been. He squeezed her hand, happy he’d agreed to be her partner. Their meeting, which he’d originally counted as misfortune, had turned out to be lucky, indeed. He admitted to himself that she might just be the best thing that had ever happened to him. With her, he didn’t feel sorry for himself or like the son of a failure in business. And he didn’t think back nearly as often, for there was too much to look forward to.

  “But you said you also have a sister?”

  Jack smiled. “My little sister, Cassandra, and my mother are both staying with my mother’s older sister, Aunt Laura. It has been very difficult for them, losing their home and all they ever knew. It was through no fault of theirs, you see.”

  “Bad things happen to good people all the time, Jack. Being good is no protection at all.”

  “I suppose. They are my responsibility now. They are both depending on me.”

  When he looked back at her, he found she gave him a steady assessing stare. What did she see?

  “Now I understand why you didn’t quit with the others, Jack. Your back’s to the wall as well, isn’t it?”

  He nodded, wondering why he’d told Lily so much.

  She took his hand. “Find your fortune then, for success is the best revenge.”

  Jack nodded at the wisdom of this. But he didn’t want a fortune. He’d had that and now saw how it had insulated, softened and corrupted him. He was lucky for the chance to do something other than eat dinner at the club and attend social outings that he feared would now bore him silly. But then what else was there for him to do?

  It was his job to pick up the pieces of the life shattered by the recklessness, inattention and shortsightedness of his father—wasn’t it? He had thought so. Did think so. It was just that he was so far from them. It made it seem like some dream, instead of his reality—a life he barely recalled now. He looked about him at the dark trees silhouetted against the glimmering sky. Would all this become a dream as well?

  He hoped not, because he wanted to remember each moment of this journey. He wanted to remember Lily standing at the bow of his boat, nose to the wind and hair flying out behind her.

  Lily stifled a yawn.

  Jack thought of his earlier plans to have her alone, to lure her to the boat and have his way with her. The impulsiveness and sheer recklessness of his thinking now embarrassed him. Lily was not a toy.

  “Would you like to bed down here or in the boat?” he asked.

  “Let’s sleep in the boat, beneath a piece of canvas. It should keep most of the bugs off and block the wind,” she said.

  Lily had said let’s, as in let us. Jack found he could not suppress the rush of heat that flooded him as his noble thoughts battled with his carnal desires.

  “Cold will keep the bugs off and we’ll be away before they’re about.” Did she notice the catch in his voice?

  They stowed her pots and crawled back into the boat, lying on the flat wooden platform he’d hewn from logs. Nala jumped in and curled at their feet. Jack removed his boots and draped a piece of canvas across the gunwales. It was a far cry from the slim, fleet boat he used to row in the Delaware Canal at Princeton, but he was proud of his little vessel. It carried all their gear and still had ten solid inches above the water line. He prayed to God that would be enough.

  It was the end of May now, he realized, and his classmates would have already graduated and would soon be setting about beginning promising futures. Jack found that his musings did not precipitate the familiar pangs of regret any longer. Time and distance made them seem less significant, or was it that he had prospects of his own?

  Lily snuggled beneath the blankets beside him, the heat of her body warming him.

  He pulled the canvas up, but she stopped him by placing a hand on his.

  “Leave it back for a bit. I’d love to watch the lights.”

  He lay beside her, hands folded behind his head, staring up at the heavens at the miracle above them.

  Lily settled her head on his chest, at the juncture of his shoulder and he curled his arm about her, determined to ignore the slow pulsing desire that beat with his heart.

  “What’s before us tomorrow, Jack?”

  He admired that about her. She focused her energy only on immediate obstacles. Should he tell her the truth?

  “Don’t be sugarcoating it for me. I can take it.”

  He chuckled, wondering what she’d do if he petted her head. He had spent much time thinking on what her hair would feel like. He rested his palm on her crown and she nestled closer allowing him to caress her hair. The rhythmic stroke and her gentle breathing calmed him.

  “Marsh Lake is shallow. We may have to pole through parts and hope the winds don’t ground us on a sandbar or snag us on logs.”

  “I’ll watch ahead and spot for them,” she promised.

  “After that it’s Big Windy Arm. Treacherous winds. Some
say it’s more dangerous than the rapids.”

  “White Horse?” she whispered, as if to say it aloud was to bring bad luck.

  “Yes, and then Miles Canyon. The trick, I’m told, is to ride the hogback.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The ridge of white water coming together in the center of the rough water.”

  He felt her nod and continued.

  “We try to ride it about half the distance, then swing right to avoid the rocks dead center. They look like spears, I’m told.”

  “Well, they’ll be hard to miss seeing.”

  “And even harder to miss hitting as the water rushes at them, then splits into two streams. They’ve got pilots for hire at the checkpoint.”

  “We’ll not need one, Jack. You’ll be pilot enough, I’m thinking.”

  “I’ve never shot rapids, Lily.”

  “And I’ve never been first mate, but we’ll do it together as partners.”

  Jack didn’t tell her that she’d not be along for either White Horse Rapids or Miles Canyon, for he meant to set her ashore to portage the rapids to keep her safe. If he was lucky and survived the passage, he’d pick her up below.

  “What are you not telling me, Jack?”

  Damn. How did she know him so well?

  Chapter Nine

  Jack woke to find Lily curled snug against him. Her breathing had left a fine dusting of frost on his coat, but her body had kept him warm. He’d never slept beside a woman like this, in quiet tenderness, and he liked it more than he had any right to. It was a joy he’d never expected.

  A shout came from close by and he realized the voice came from the river. The sun had not even crested the trees and already the parade of boats had begun. He sat up and Lily groaned in protest.

  He glanced about at the dark outline of boats gliding along. The lake was crowded with vessels already.

  Lily took Nala ashore and Jack prepared to cast off. She didn’t keep him waiting. He pushed off and hoisted the canvas wave catcher. He’d learned of the triangular sheet from his discussion with a man called Cap’n Hegg. This sail helped stabilize his vessel and kept the wind from dragging them across the lake. Next Lily raised the square center sail, which she had stitched with an awl as nimbly as any New England whaler. And they were off, wind whistling past him as he turned the rudder. His blood rushed with the water that pulsed beneath the hull.

  “Look out, Jack,” called Lily, pointing at a low-riding skiff that cut before them and seemed without rudder.

  The skiff careened sideways. Jack pulled hard to the right, sending Nala thumping to her side and then scrambling to her feet with much clicking of toenails on the deck. Lily clutched the gunwales as the wind left their sails.

  Jack swore as the boat shot before them, nearly brushing their side. The men on board had perhaps three inches of freeboard above the water line, and Jack thought they had no chance once they hit the chop farther out, for though Marsh Lake was shallow, the winds tossed the water into three-foot swells.

  “Jack! Look.”

  He followed the direction of her gaze and saw two boats collide. The one struck broadside floundered and filled, sending the men out into the lake. It sank out from under the occupants so fast there was no time to save a thing. The men were hauled aboard the craft that had scuttled them, and the swearing carried over the water. All about them men fought the wind and the water, the worthiness of their crafts and each other.

  The farther north they traveled the bigger were the ice floes. He had hoped the largest pieces would have cleared this portion of the water, but it was not so. As the sky brightened to a steel-gray, they moved along with the heavy, dangerous bludgeons. Jack’s stomach churned as they struck one and then another. The dull thump vibrated through the beams below his feet, like rolling thunder. His hull was double-thick, but would that be enough?

  Lily moved to the bow and leaned out. Jack wanted to call her back, but he realized that with the sail and the center load he could not see well enough to steer them clear.

  “There’s another. Right, Jack.”

  He turned them and was horrified to see a slab of ice the size of a riverboat bob past.

  “Slight left,” she called.

  This was a large tree, roots sticking up six feet above the water’s surface. Not having a line of sight proved more disconcerting than he’d imagined and he wondered if his need to carry his gear would jeopardize Lily’s life. Nothing aboard was worth that. He gripped the rudder with sweaty hands and looked to Lily who charted their course. He’d need a man to do the job when he set Lily ashore.

  “Lake’s ending!” Lily pointed to the passage.

  Jack leaned out to see the white water. Nala seemed to sense what was to come, because she dropped to all fours and sank to the bottom of the boat. Lily gave her a reassuring pat and then resumed her place at the front, clutching the gunwales and bracing.

  Swift water was what he had been told, but that did not prepare him for the flume or the pulsing thrum of water rushing through the narrow channel. Before him the bow lifted and Lily was momentarily two feet above him. In the time it took his heart to beat, the boat rose and then fell, thumping the river that now seemed solid as stone.

  They no longer needed the sail and it hindered his sight, but how to lower it now that they were speeding along? Lily left her place and crept aft, hand over hand, like a baby learning to walk. She was making her way to the mast.

  “Go back,” he called and then thought better of it. If they were hit by ice she’d tumble off into the river, but the bow was not safe, either. Jack could barely swallow past the dread over her safety for he knew he’d have no chance to rescue her before he shot past. “Get down!”

  But she either could not hear him or would not listen for she continued. Jack clutched the rudder and braced, trying to hold their course to the center of the white water as Lily reached the mast. A moment later, the canvas flapped madly. She gathered the flaccid sail and had one side secured when they pitched to the left and she sprawled over the boxes, sliding off and onto the deck. He released the rudder to rescue her and the boat immediately turned sideways, tilting dangerously. He glimpsed the water and the catastrophe that loomed as he dove back for the rudder to bring them about.

  “Stay there!” she shouted, pointing a finger at him as if he were her second hound.

  Jack gritted his teeth and pulled, bringing them around. Lily regained her feet and managed to tie down the rest of the sail.

  He could see more clearly now, though the blind spot directly before him was troublesome. He compensated by searching far ahead and steering accordingly. That was how he noticed the red flag tied to a pole on the left bank. Below it was a sign, black paint on a wood slab. It read: Cannon.

  Did the writer mean canyon? Could they have journeyed twenty-three miles from Lake Marsh already? Jack thought back to the blur of water and rushing shore, feeling certain they had reached Miles Canyon, the stretch of rapids second only to White Horse. Already he heard the dull roar of water.

  He grounded them. There was a portage here, but the half-mile of skids, a kind of wooden railroad track, complete with cart and mule team, would have many other vessels waiting before them and it would take several days before their turn. The rapids themselves would take no more than ten minutes to cross or to finish them entirely.

  Lily stared at him. Confusion wrinkled her brow.

  “What are you doing? We’ve the rapids next.”

  “Not we,” he said.

  Lily gaped at him a moment and then her mouth snapped shut as her eyes narrowed. Jack braced for a different kind of rough water.

  “If you’re thinking of leaving me behind, I’ll not have it.”

  “We have to stop at the checkpoint.” Jack indicated the large tent beside the Canadian flag. Nala jumped overboard before they’d even grounded, but Lily did not leave the boat.

  “I’ll wait here,” she said, then folded her arms and glared as if daring him to
try to drag her out.

  He didn’t, but instead lined up with the others. The officer asked the man before him for the address of his next of kin. That gave Jack a momentary pause as he imagined his mother receiving a letter from the North-West Mounted Police and winced. But when it was his turn, he gave the address and in return received a serial number and instructions to paint it on both sides toward the bow.

  “We’ve checkpoints along the way. Expedites searches for the missing.” The Mountie held the pencil over the ledger and glanced up at Jack. “Any others aboard?” asked the Mountie.

  He hesitated then said, “My partner.”

  “His name?”

  Jack swallowed. “L. Shanahan.”

  “His next of kin?”

  “None,” said Jack, feeling the sweat pop out on his brow. Lying was one of the traits he hated, for hadn’t his father’s whole life been a lie? Yet he’d done it to keep Lily with him.

  “Women and children are required to walk the rapids. Any others?”

  Jack stared. “Just the dog.”

  The officer dismissed him with a nod.

  The seriousness of what he was about to do struck home, by not listing Lily, he’d prevented her family from ever knowing what became of her, should something happen. Jack turned back to the Mountie.

  “How many lost so far?” Jack asked.

  “Ten the first day and fifty-six boats. Though at least twelve sank before they even reached the center of Lake Bennett. Lucky for them as they didn’t drown. Safe passage.” He turned to the man in line behind Jack. “Next.”

  Jack headed back to the boat in a daze, wondering what he would do if anything happened to Lily.

  Lily straightened as she saw Jack’s odd expression. Anxiety pushed away some of her anger. His pale face and haunted eyes did not bode well. What had he learned?