Lily settled down to watch the river knowing she’d do as she liked and no man, uniformed or otherwise, would tell her different, for this was her adventure for good or bad.
She understood the risks, but she’d not leave Jack blind on the most dangerous stretch of water from here to Dawson.
Lily turned her gaze to the river. All the men that passed looked exactly the same, grim and wide-eyed. She noticed one man, small, with a dark hat and full beard. Her Brooklyn tailor.
“Mr. Luritz!” She waved frantically and called again.
He turned and spotted her.
“Miss Shanahan!” He waved back. “I haven’t forgotten your dresses!”
She cupped her hands over her mouth. “Good luck!”
He waved again and then held on to his hat as the boat picked up speed. Lily whispered a prayer for him.
She watched until his flat barge disappeared, dropping from sight as if it had fallen off the edge of the earth. Lily wondered at the drop, for he had vanished, mast and all. The parade of crafts continued through the afternoon. Jack came back before dark. He was uncharacteristically quiet.
“It’s that bad?” she asked.
He nodded his head.
“Jack, I don’t like secrets so you’d best tell me.”
“I saw three boats go down.”
“A flat barge?”
Jack wrinkled his brow. “Yes. One like that hit the rocks and broke apart. But Lil, I saw two other barges make it through.”
Had Luritz crossed safely?
“Another craft capsized. They were all drowned. Seven men.” He shook his head. “Another took on too much water and sank. I hope we’re not overloaded. I’ve calculated the height of the sides, but I never saw water boil like that.”
“Mounties came by and took our number.”
Jack looked somber. “They told you that you needed to walk.”
She nodded.
“They’re checking all passengers, Lily, and they’re checking the boats.”
“Then I’ll need a pair of pants and a good hat.”
Jack stared a moment and then spoke in a low, scratchy voice. “If anything should happen to you, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Jack, you need me. I’m your eyes.”
“I don’t want you aboard.”
She glared. “I’m your partner to Dawson. You agreed.”
He tried unsuccessfully to stare her down and then nodded once. “All right. But if they stop you, you’ll walk.”
Lily had a horrible image of watching from above as Jack struck a rock he did not see. But she accepted his hand and shook.
“Deal.”
He didn’t let her go. She didn’t pull away. The heat between them blazed anew.
“Jack?”
“It’s bad water, Lily. Real bad.”
She nodded and squeezed tight to his hand. “We’ll make it through. You’ve built the best boat on the river.”
His grin was lopsided, but his eyes remained troubled. She released his hand and hugged him. His arms came about her hard and fast, clasping her tight. She felt the tension in him and the strength. What would she give to be a New York debutante?
“We’ll make it, Jack. I just know it.”
She thought she felt him kiss the top of her head before he set her aside.
“’Course we will.” His eyes glittered.
Lily wondered at the horrors he’d seen this day and was glad she did not have those pictures bobbing about in her mind.
Lily washed and packed her gear as Jack scattered the coals on the rocks. Then he waited on the bank as she changed into a pair of dungarees that fitted her round bottom a little too snugly. The old work shirt was torn at the hem, but covered her curves. She tugged on a battered old hat and regarded him from beneath the brim.
“Well?”
Her skin was too fair and flawless to fool anyone at close quarters. But from a distance she might pass for a boy.
“Where did you get those?” he asked.
“Traded for them.”
He cast a disparaging look at her attire. “I think you were robbed.”
She stared up at him. “Ready?”
The Mounties checked them in a little farther down river. Lily stayed with the boat and kept her head down. Afterward they waited on the bank for their turn behind two canoes, an overloaded skiff and a barge complete with tent and stove.
“My, they’d never have to go ashore,” said Lily admiring the practicality of the craft.
“Unless the lashing fails and they break apart.”
They proved prophetic words, for the barge operator was clumsy and as Lily and Jack watched them from the bank they failed to make the turn after the landings, crashing immediately into the boulders before the 300-foot bluff of black basalt now directly before them. Lily gasped as the barge lifted, spilling the men into the water, their tent crumpling as the stove dragged it into the river. She could not hear the logs break, but she could see them separating like the stays of a fan as the goods fell through the cracks.
Two men scrambled to the shore, but the others were swept along.
Lily turned her worried eyes on Jack.
“Improper rudder,” he said.
The skiff went next, turning neatly round the bend to the left and out of sight. The canoes went together and then it was their turn.
Chapter Twelve
A whistle brought Nala into the boat and a few moments later they joined the other vessels pulled downriver by an ever-increasing current.
The river began gently enough. Jack spotted the red flag on the pole and the sign announcing they were in the canyon. He knew before he reached the looming cliffs that the river would be forced to a hard left. Jack also knew from his scouting that there was a reef on the left bank, a mad tangle of logs and rocks, but the cliffs lay to the right with the faster water. Where he placed them was all. He had decided to hug close to the reef to put them in a better central position as they took the next right angle through the canyon. Lily had worked out sign language that mainly involved her pointing to hazards and then waving to clear water. She spied the reef, as sure as any springer spaniel spotting game, and waved him right, but he took them close then turned the rudder with all he had. The water roared like a maelstrom and pulsed like the heart of a great serpent. He hugged the horse’s mane of white water, shooting out into the canyon. Lily noticed the reef a quarter mile downriver and pointed. The most dangerous part of their journey rushed at him with inhuman speed. The reef further pinched the churning water into five-foot waves.
She motioned to the right and he leaned, fighting the rush of water that tried to snatch the rudder away. The waves beat against the sides and splashed over the deck, knocking Lily down. She righted herself as he held them in position. Just then the boat pitched as if some sea monster had hit them from below. Not a rock, he knew, but the waves, tossing them up and then leaving them airborne an instant before they crashed back to the river.
Lily’s feet left the deck. Jack stared in horror as she seemed to move in slow motion, flying up into the air as if catapulted. She sailed over the side and into the white water.
“Lily,” he howled, but the roar ate his words. He searched the water, but saw nothing.
Nala leapt over the side, disappearing after her mistress.
Jack shot past the reef, hitting the widening river and the slowing water. He leaned over the gunwale, looking for Lily. Her hat bobbed along, but he could not see her.
“Lily!” He could hear his voice now and the splashing.
He ran to the bow. There they were.
Nala swam nose in the air, thrashing her forelegs at the water. Lily clutched her dog round her thick neck and Jack found he could breathe again.
“I got you.”
Nala changed direction, making for the boat instead of the shore. He reached for an oar and extended it to Lily. She clasped hold of the pole and he dragged her to the side. Jack hauled Lily up first and then t
he two of them tugged her dog out of the water.
With his girls safe, Jack staggered back. Lily sank down beside him and Jack grasped her, dragging her into his arms.
“I nearly lost you,” he whispered, pressing his cheek to the top of her wet head.
“No, I’m here.”
He closed his eyes at the joy of it. The shock of her fall brought home just how much he needed Lily. She was more than his partner. More than the object of his desire.
“Thank God.”
“And thank my hound.” Lily patted Nala who had already shaken off and lay at her mistress’s feet.
Jack squeezed her tight and kissed her wet, cold lips, warming them with his own. There was a whooping cry from close beside them.
She drew back and stroked his cheek, pride beaming from her over what they had accomplished together.
Jack pushed his hat back on his head.
“We did it,” he said, grinning at her.
“We sure did.” She held her smile until it became brittle.
He stood and offered his hand, she let him pull her to her feet, then she stepped away. The moment was gone and he’d lost her again.
“Damn, boys, we’ve shot them rapids!”
Lily popped her head over the edge of the hull. He followed her example to see a skiff with two men, one at each oar, drift past them toward the many sandbars to the left of the widening river.
“We made it, Jack. Dawson’s only a hop and skip from here.”
Actually they were yet to reach the halfway mark. But they would be on the river for all of it and the Chilkoot Pass, their first winter and now the White Horse Rapids all lay behind them.
“Damned if we didn’t,” he said.
“I’ve got to change. Go to the back again and don’t come forward unless I call for you.”
He nodded and did as she bid him, knowing what would happen if he didn’t. Since their night together, he had kept his hands off her, but not his mind. He watched her at the bow, taking in every nuance and each gesture. He watched her by the firelight when she slept. And now, as he knew she was changing, he remembered that day he had seen her there, savoring the memories as a starving man recalls a feast. He had not stopped wanting Lily, had accepted long ago and many miles back that he’d never stop.
Lily did not forget the sight of the fresh graves beyond the White Horse Canyon or the icy bite of the river after she had been pitched in. So she stayed well back as they took Five Fingers Rapids, named for the fingerlike rocks that jutted up from the river. Lily thought the black humps of rock looked like the body of the whale that ate Jonah.
They made it past Big Salmon and Little Salmon, through the community of Sixty Mile, so named for its distance from Fort Yukon. They camped on the river when possible to discourage the mosquitoes that now flew in black clouds on the shore. Jack had rigged a metal-and-brick floor in the boat as a platform for cooking. She set their fires in a metal basin that Jack would use for a wheelbarrow once in Dawson. As daylight stretched to eighteen hours a day and the river grew calm, she suggested they work in shifts, each sailing the boat for six hours and then resting. This brought them to Dawson City on July 4, 1898.
Lily stood beside Jack at the stern as they sailed the last two miles along the wide river, flanked by green pine on one side and the white-capped mountains of The Dome on the other.
“It’s a fine way to celebrate Independence Day,” said Lily.
“But we’re in Canadian territory,” Jack reminded her.
Lily waved off his observation as she studied the shore. There were many cabins, each with nice piles of dirt just waiting to be sorted.
“What are those? They look like wooden gutters in the stream.” She asked pointing at a series of wooden troughs set beside the tributaries leading out to the river.
“That’s a Long Tom. It’s kind of an extended rocker box. You feed the dirt into the top and then rock it like a cradle. The stream water running through and the rocking washes away the dirt and gravel leaving the heavier material, including the gold, to be trapped in the riffles.”
She stared in wonder at the filthy man who threw shovelful after shovelful into the top of the contraption.
Jack pointed. “At the bottom are small slats of wood that trap the heaviest material and gold is heavier than any other thing out here.”
Lily craned her neck as they sailed on, wishing she could see to the bottom of that trough. Next came a little inlet which held hundreds of logs, just waiting for the sawmill. Two horses ate hay from a trough made from a canoe and everywhere freshly sawn planks covered half-constructed buildings.
“That’s it. Dawson City,” said Jack as he turned the rudder.
Lily studied the rough collection of structures, looking for the biggest and grandest of them all, for that was where she planned to work.
“We should stay on the boat a few nights,” said Jack, who had become more and more sullen as they neared their destination.
“We’ll see,” she said, not wanting to be alone in the boat with him, knowing they would separate afterward, knowing their parting would make her more apt to forget all the reasons that sleeping with him was such a bad idea.
As it happened, Lily was offered a job the day she set foot in Dawson, singing at the Pavilion, an arrangement that included a shared room at a boarding house and board at one of the hotels. She also rented a five-by-five piece of warehouse space, so Jack could search for a claim on which to try his invention without worrying about his supplies.
She came to the boat when the last of his gear was stowed in the guarded warehouse and handed him a billfold.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“It’s $428.00, your half of what we earned since we partnered up.” She extended the money, waiting.
“Thank you, partner.”
She held on to the wallet a moment too long.
“You won’t go spending it in the gambling halls, will you?”
“I’m a Baptist, Lily.”
“What has that to do with squandering money?”
“We don’t drink and we don’t gamble.”
“Are you funning me?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
“I never heard of a man not drinking or gambling.” She glanced about. “I hope there aren’t too many other Baptists around here.”
“I wouldn’t worry.”
She returned her attention to him. “Will you come see my first show? Just for luck?”
Jack shook his head, feeling the ache already gripping his heart. Their parting had come.
“I’m heading up Bonanza Creek. I hear there is a claim or two for sale there that’s played out. Might be able to buy it now.” He held up the wallet.
Lily toyed with the lace collar of her best blouse. “The owner of the Pavilion says all the good claims were gone before the fall and all that’s left is grubstakes, working for those that own the claims.”
He patted her cheek. “Don’t worry, Lily. I’ll not starve.”
She clasped his hand and held it to her cheek, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, they glistened. At first he thought it was her frequent temper, but then he realized it was tears. Lily was close to crying.
Her voice broke and she tried a second time to speak. “Well, if you do come back, come to the Pavilion. I haven’t forgotten my promise to look out for you all I can.”
She released his hand and they stood suddenly awkward in the street. They had been through so much and he had grown to care for her.
“A hauler offered me five hundred dollars for Nala. I turned him down.” She looked worried. “I’ve a favor to ask, Jack. I don’t want her stolen while I’m working. Will you take her for a while? They won’t let me keep her at the boarding house and she likes you.”
“I’d be glad to have her.”
“Don’t sell her.”
“Never. And I’ll bring her to see you when I’m in town for supplies.”
He felt the time between them slipping away.
Had she given him Nala to protect her dog or to insure she would see him again? He stared at her lovely face and wondered why he could not think of anything important to say.
“You were a good partner, Lily.”
She smiled, but then her chin trembled and he thought he’d said the wrong thing again.
“I never had much luck with men, Jack. Hard to trust them, you know. But you kept your word. And I thank you. And I’ll not say goodbye, for you’re coming to see me with Nala. Promise.”
He nodded, finding a lump in his throat prevented him speaking. Once he had wanted to be rid of her and now that he was, he found he was not ready to let her go. He hoped she’d kiss him, but she didn’t.
Lily hugged him, pressing her lovely face into his dirty coat. He stroked her hair and lowered his chin to breathe in her fragrance once more. Then she pulled back and called Nala. The hound came, but her tail was down and she looked to her mistress.
“Go on, Nala.” Lily motioned her away.
Jack turned and headed for the river. He couldn’t look back, because if he did he’d do something foolish. Nala somehow sensed that Lily would not be coming with them and she whined anxiously.
Jack felt his shoulders sag. The weight of the journey, the sorrow of their parting and the uncertainty of his future all preyed upon him.
Would his invention even work?
Chapter Thirteen
Lily could not have asked for a better start. Before the week was up she was the object of a war between the Pavilion and the Forks. The Forks had a piano, but the Pavilion offered her a better wage. After hearing her sing, the owner of the Pavilion, Donald Trost, was determined not to lose her. He was stocky, with a ruddy complexion and a nose for business. They were much alike in that and she enjoyed negotiating with a man who knew how it was done. He managed to get her exclusively and for six nights a week, with a second show on Saturday nights. In return she arranged to receive a small percentage of the house, plus she did not have to drink with the customers or dance with them. The large hall had a stage where she performed nightly, with the exception of Sundays, when the Mounties shut down all such establishments. They also forbade the carrying of firearms and kept the stampeders in tight check. Because of them, Dawson City was far safer and more orderly than San Francisco had been.
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