For a while, she lay there thinking about John. Her heart beat double time as she recalled the twinkle in his eyes, his straight nose, his strong, square chin with a cleft in it, and his tousled, dark hair. Without a doubt, he was handsome. But what attracted her even more was his thoughtful courtliness.
At normal school, the students were all young ladies, many of them very attractive. Violet had never thought of herself as anything out of the ordinary. In the tenements and walking to and from the garment factory on the streets of Boston, the only young men she’d met often leered at her, making her feel like she needed to scrub the filth off her body. No young man had ever treated her like a lady until John Barston. He made her feel special.
The voice of reason suddenly burst her bubble. What was she thinking? This trip would be over in a few days, and they would go their separate ways. She had a job, and he had his sternwheeler. She probably meant no more to him than a pleasant way to pass the time on his trip north. Unless their paths crossed accidentally on the streets of Whitehorse, she’d never see him again.
If only . . . but no, she must not let herself entertain such thoughts. She would enjoy the time with John Barston but would keep a tight rein on her heart strings. She turned over and focused her thoughts on Jenny—that sick, motherless child. And Violet knew exactly how that felt. Even after all these years, she still missed her own mother and father . . . and Aunt Mabel.
Brushing a tear from her eye, she finally allowed the soothing rhythm of the ship to lull her to sleep.
When Violet awoke, the porthole appeared to be lit from the outside. It must be time to get up, she thought. But when she checked her watch pin, she realized that her body was still operating on Boston time. She had a couple of hours yet until breakfast. Wide awake, she opened the porthole and peeked out. It was already light. A white mist hung over the sea. She decided to take a brisk walk around the promenade in the predawn.
She brushed her teeth and splashed her face with cool water, patting it dry with the white towel monogrammed with S. S. Princess May in navy blue.
Sitting at the vanity, she carefully arranged her hair into a fashionable bun at the nape of her neck and allowed soft waves to frame her face. From her trunk, she lifted out a clean, pale lavender shirtwaist and put it on, adding a white lace collar and her freshly brushed traveling suit. Dressed for the day, she added her new long wool coat, slipped out into the passageway, locking the door behind her, and ascended the staircase leading to the promenade deck.
To the east, a rosy glow peeked above the ghostly coastal range. The deck was deserted—no sign of the hundreds of passengers she knew were on board. Rows of empty chairs lined the front observation deck. Dull light glowed from the wheelhouse.
Violet shivered as the breeze stirred the chilling fog. Mesmerized, she hugged her wool coat close and watched the red orb pop up above the mist-enshrouded peaks. As the fog began to burn away, it settled in the valleys and rose like thin smoke signals from many campfires.
The fog cleared swiftly. Violet continued walking around the wheelhouse and down the promenade on the other side of the ship, fortifying herself to stick to her decision of the night before. As she emerged from the other side, invigorated by the brisk walk, she observed snowy peaks highlighted in rose and gold against a now cloudless blue sky.
The ship’s bell tolled, signaling that it was time for breakfast. Violet found the dining salon and entered. John beckoned to her from their table. When she saw him, her heart leaped, and all her resolutions fled.
As Violet approached their table, John stood and greeted her. “Here you are. I stopped by your cabin, but no one answered my knock.” He pulled out a chair and seated her next to him.
In a breathless rush, she told him of her early morning walk around the ship before she picked up the breakfast card at her place and studied it.
A waiter appeared at her side. “May I take your order, Miss?”
“I’ll have half a grapefruit, oatmeal with raisins, and a cup of tea, thank you.”
Her mouth had grown dry, so she drained the water goblet at her place. Self-consciously aware of her attraction to John, she found that her appetite had fled. Not wanting any questions, though, she forced herself to eat. She ate silently, ignoring John’s quizzical glances.
How could she treat him as simply a friend when she felt like she was falling in love with him? She mustn’t let him know how she felt.
As the Princess May plied her way northward, John continued to escort her to meals and to give her a fascinating travelogue of the trip. She tried to ignore her feelings for him and concentrate on the beautiful sights, sounds, and smells.
Around noon on the second day, they docked at Prince Rupert, a town newly carved out of the British Columbia coast, to unload a few passengers and freight. In a few hours, they sailed on toward the entrance of the Inside Passage and Ketchikan, Alaska’s southernmost city. Rain, strong winds, and rough seas from the open Pacific drove John and Violet into the observation salon.
After they crossed the strait called Dixon Entrance into Alaskan waters, the clouds cleared away. As the seas smoothed, John said, “Shall we go back outside?”
“Yes, let’s.” As they returned to the rail, Violet was thankful for the islands to the west that rose up to shelter them from the open ocean.
Gliding slowly and cautiously, every pound of steel alive and alert, the Princess navigated around clusters of tiny islets and reefs as well as larger islands so massive that their jagged, snow-capped peaks punctured the azure springtime sky, and it took hours to sail past.
“Look at all those waterfalls!” Violet pointed to numerous rivulets of water cascading down steep, rocky gorges flanked by heavily timbered mountainsides that ended abruptly in the sea. “They look like white ribbons in a little girl’s hair.”
“Those waterfalls, as well as the many icy blue glaciers of the Inside Passage, are fed by vast snowfields as big as Rhode Island lying above the coastal range on the mainland,” John said. “See the icebergs scattered in the sea at the face of that glacier?”
As John described the breathtakingly beautiful scenes unfolding all around them, Violet enjoyed listening to his resonant voice. His tone deepened with sadness as he recounted tragic tales of unwary sailors whose boats were dashed to pieces on deadly fingers of salt-washed rocks. “At high tide, those reefs are covered. Many a ship has been wrecked in the dark or in a storm on rocky spines like those. They’re actually peaks of underwater mountains.”
“Mountains under the sea? I’ve never heard of such a thing!”
“Some are a thousand feet high. On clear days, the deceptive beauty can lull a sailor into a false sense of security. The weather can turn in an instant. Tides can vary by as much as twenty feet. Hurricane-force winds can blow boats off course, or they can get lost in blinding fog or snow squalls.”
The daylight suddenly dimmed, and the air chilled. Violet glanced skyward and saw that a cloud had covered the sun as though mourning the loss of life. She shivered and pulled her coat closer around her. “Those poor people spilled helplessly out of their broken hulls into these frigid waters . . . with no ship nearby to save them.” How devastated she’d been when Aunt Mabel died. She’d always miss her. “And their heartbroken families,” she murmured.
John stepped around her to stand where he could shelter her from the wind. Side by side, leaning their arms on the railing, they stared at the ever-moving sea, lost in their own thoughts. “I’ve heard the stories so many times, I’d stopped feeling the tragedy and suffering involved.”
He reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. She flashed him a weak smile.
He studied her face. “I see sadness in your eyes, in your smile. You said your mother died when you were a child, but surely you have other family. Why did you take this job so far from home?”
“It’s a long story.” Violet related to him how her parents had died when she was eleven, how her aunt and uncle had raised her, an
d how she had been in normal school studying to be a teacher when her uncle died and left her and her aunt destitute. “Aunt Mabel had no means of support. I had to quit teachers college and work in a garment factory to support the two of us—dreadful work. Then Aunt Mabel got sick—consumption. She died two months ago. And here I am.”
John shook his head slowly. “I’m so sorry for all of your losses.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “But I’m glad you’re here.” His eyes softened. “So I could meet you.”
Violet’s heartbeat quickened. Did he have feelings for her too? “I’m glad to be here. When I first heard about this job so far away from all I knew, I was afraid to leave what was familiar.” Her voice trailed off. More vehemently, she added, “But I couldn’t stand one more day at that garment factory so full of lint it could go up in smoke at the first spark and a taskmaster who hollered when we sneezed or coughed, while we sweltered in the summer and froze in the winter.”
She lifted her eyes to his briefly. “And I’m enjoying this trip with you.”
Immediately, she ducked her head. Was that too bold?
At that moment, silvery flashes from a nearby cove caught her eye. The sea appeared to be boiling. Glad for something to distract John from her awkwardness, Violet pointed. “Is that a submerged reef over there?”
John turned to look where she indicated just as the water seemed to churn up and sparkle as the sunlight reappeared. “Why, that’s a school of herring. The fishermen scoop them out with nets and use them as bait to catch salmon and halibut. The Natives eat them too.”
Farther on, what looked like tawny rocks on one islet suddenly erupted and slid into the sea, accompanied by barking and squawking as the Princess passed by.
“A colony of Steller’s sea lions,” John called out.
Violet laughed. “They’re certainly a raucous lot, aren’t they?”
“They haul out to rest and sun themselves after gorging on fish. I think we disturbed their nap, and they’re protesting.”
Soon her gloomy thoughts were totally forgotten as a pod of humpback whales cavorted like circus acrobats, slapping the waves with their mammoth tails and flippers, whipping up bubbles in a feeding frenzy near the ship. After an amazing show, they disappeared as quickly as they’d come.
“That’s it?” Violet felt like a child at her first circus at the end of the opening act.
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll see many more before the trip is over,” John said.
Chapter 6
AS THE LONG DAYS SLID into short nights, the Princess May stopped at Ketchikan before it sailed toward Wrangell Narrows, a finger off the Inside Passage.
Even though the night was calm and still, a murmur like a soft wind carried across the waters. “What’s that sound?” Violet asked.
John tilted his head to listen. “When the snow melts in the mountains in the spring, you hear that song—the melody of a thousand streams and freshets rushing to the sea.”
“How lovely!”
Together, they enjoyed the tune.
From Wrangell, the Princess May crept toward another narrow passageway to reach Juneau. As the ship glided up Gastineau Channel on the fourth day, passengers lined the decks to see the Territory’s new capital, tucked into a pocket between two rugged mountains.
“Juneau is a mining town. Gold was discovered in Juneau’s Gold Creek in 1880, fifteen years before the Klondike Gold Rush,” John told Violet. “The town now boasts two large gold mills, making it the world’s capital of hard rock gold mining.”
“What’s that?” Violet pointed to the terraced, long-armed monstrosity hanging off one of the mountains.
“That’s the Alaska-Juneau Gold Mine. Men dig ore out of the mountain, and trams carry it through tunnels to the mill where the rocks are crushed and the gold extracted. Juneau is on the mainland.” John turned and pointed to a community of similar size across the channel. “That town is Douglas on a large island of the same name. See the concrete building standing watch over that sandy beach? That’s the Treadwell Mine Pump House. Salt water must be pumped continually out of that mine because it extends under the channel.”
As the Princess sidled up to the Juneau dock, many passengers gathered with their luggage on the lower deck to leave the ship by gangway. Those traveling on to Skagway were allowed to debark for a few hours. John and Violet joined them for a brief evening stroll through town, arm in arm.
A few Model T Fords lined streets paved with wide planks.
“I’ve never seen streets like this,” Violet said.
“With trees readily available, this was the cheapest way to solve the problem of the usual quagmire in this rainy place.”
Early the next morning, the ship set sail on the final leg of their journey up the northernmost segment of the Inside Passage, called Lynn Canal, to Skagway.
Until now, Violet had been able to put thoughts of the future on hold, enjoy John’s company, and listen to his stories. With this pleasant five-day journey nearing an end, she could no longer hold her feelings at bay.
As they sailed past Sentinel Island Lighthouse near the entrance to Lynn Canal, John pointed it out. “That’s where the Princess May shipwrecked in 1910.” When Violet didn’t respond, he studied her face. “Violet, did you hear me?”
“Uh, I’m sorry. I was just thinking.”
“You seem so far away this morning. Is something bothering you?”
“No. It’s nothing.” She tried to answer nonchalantly.
He tilted her chin up with his finger. “What’s wrong? Won’t you tell me?”
In spite of his distracting touch, she tried to formulate a plausible response. Not looking him in the eye, she lied. “I guess I’m a little nervous about meeting Mr. Henderson.”
“Don’t worry! He’s a really nice man. He’ll like you.” John squinted sideways at her and blurted out, “I just hope he doesn’t like you too much!”
Violet pulled back and frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
John grasped both of Violet’s hands in his. “Well, he’s still young enough to want to marry again. You’re a lovely, sweet young woman.” Violet felt herself blushing. She wanted to pull her hands away and cover her cheeks, but John held them tightly. “I-I was hoping you’d let me . . . uh . . . I’d like to keep seeing you.” His words rushed out. “Would you allow me to visit you whenever I’m in Whitehorse between runs on the Yukon Belle?”
Surprise and relief flooded through her. John wanted to see her again. But she kept her excitement under control. “I’d love to see you, John, as long as a visit doesn’t interfere with my duties. Jenny has to be my first priority this year. That’s what Mr. Henderson will be paying me for.”
“Of course!” John grinned broadly. “I’m sure we can work it all out. George will surely want to spend some time alone with his daughter. And now, let’s enjoy the rest of our trip.”
This glorious interlude was not the end. She’d see John again. She felt as light as the pink blossoms of Aunt Mabel’s dogwood trees fluttering in the spring breeze on the estate they’d lost in Boston.
Later that afternoon, the steamer turned to the right and sailed into an even narrower waterway. “Taiya Inlet,” John said. On both sides, high mountains covered with thick evergreen forests rose to snowy crests that gleamed like the white heads on the bald eagles circling them. Above the ship’s engines, Violet again heard the gurgling arpeggios of the innumerable cascades of melting snow streaming down thousands of feet to the sea, twisting and intertwining like sixteenth notes on a sheet of music.
The Princess May seemed to stand still as it slowly pivoted to starboard.
“Ah!” John exclaimed, his arms sweeping out to the scene unfolding ahead. “‘Skagway—Portal of Romance,’ according to the tourist folders.”
The very name spoke to Violet of Robert Service, tall tales, the Klondike, but the way John said the word romance caused a thrill to shoot through her. Was he really feeling romantic toward her? If only she
could read his mind.
She shook herself mentally. She had come to make a difference in Jenny’s life. She needed to focus on safer thoughts.
Green foothills floated into view. The rugged White Pass towered above. The town’s setting took her breath away. Would she sleep in a famous gold rush hotel tonight?
Long docks on blackened pilings extended out from town across tidal flats. As the steamer drew closer to shore, Violet’s excitement turned to disappointment. Skagway itself looked dirty and dreary, like a town being discarded—not at all like she’d read about in the travel folder. No longer was it the bustling launching point of five thousand stampeders a week, as in its heyday, with their horses, mules, and dogs carrying the requisite ton of supplies per person up the icy staircase on their way to the Klondike goldfields.
After arranging for their luggage to be transported to the hotel, John led Violet down the long wharf to the Golden North Hotel, where the passengers would eat their evening meal and spend the night. Sunset was still hours away when they finished their plates of fried potatoes and smoked salmon, so they strolled around the tiny town, now reduced to a population of about five hundred. A handful of ragged, whiskered miners roamed the rutted streets and rickety, wooden sidewalks.
“Broadway.” Violet chuckled at the street sign. “A grandiose name for this short, dirt street with railroad tracks down the middle and boardwalks on each side.”
“It is wider, though, than most streets in Alaskan towns,” John pointed out.
As they promenaded along Broadway’s boardwalk, Violet commented on the number of shops and businesses they passed that had been boarded up. Other buildings had been moved or torn down leaving piles of rubble to molder into dust. Colorful façades remained on the more solidly built downtown structures still open for commerce.
Beside Still Waters Page 4
