[Yukon Quest 01] - Treasures Of The North Read online

‘‘I know you are keeping something from me. I don’t know why. We used to be able to face anything together. You cared about my opinion at one time. I fail to understand why now you withhold your heart and instead interject your demands.’’

  Frederick’s expression softened. ‘‘I do not seek to wound you, my dearest wife. But this is a matter that I must see through for myself. Our welfare is at stake, just as you suggested, but it would be even more so should you go to this man and try to arrange your own terms.’’

  Myrtle nodded. ‘‘Very well, then. I won’t speak of it to Paxton. But what do you wish for me to tell Grace? I will have to tell her that I appealed to you for help in the matter. Short of leaving her to believe you without feeling or concern, what am I to say?’’

  Frederick shook his head. ‘‘Tell her nothing. Say only that her father knows best.’’

  The finality of her husband’s words whispered over and over in her head, but still Myrtle knew no peace with his decision. She thought to go back on her own promise and telephone immediately for Paxton to return to the house. But instead she wearily made her way down the long hall, past the staircase, and down the wing where her daughter’s suite could be found.

  She paused at the door when she heard voices coming from the sitting room.

  ‘‘I know it’s just a matter of time before you marry some man,’’ the governess was saying. ‘‘I really must consider what I am to do with my life now.’’

  ‘‘But I want you to stay with me. Couldn’t you be my personal maid? Oh, not as a maid, but as a companion?’’ Grace questioned. ‘‘You are my best and dearest friend. I cannot stand the thought of losing you to the northern wilderness.’’

  ‘‘I would not be lost,’’ Karen replied with a laugh. ‘‘At least I hope I would not be lost. I would, hopefully, be allowed to live with my father and help with the missions work. My aunt Doris would probably want to go as well. She’s retired from teaching school now, and I know she worries about my father. If I leave Chicago, there would be no further reason for her to remain here.’’

  ‘‘But you’re talking of such a great distance. Thousands and thousands of miles. I could never just come for a visit and spend time with you.’’

  ‘‘Then why not come with me now?’’ Karen suggested. ‘‘I would never want to be one to encourage you to go against your parents’ wishes, but if what Paxton said in regard to ruining your father is true, then perhaps your father’s decisions will be less than soundly based. Perhaps we should take matters in our own hands—after all, you will not turn twenty-one until December. If we can but delay any true decision until that time, you will have more legal right to refuse such a marriage.’’

  ‘‘I believe your idea to have merit,’’ Myrtle Hawkins said, coming into the room.

  Karen and Grace both revealed stunned expressions. They had no idea anyone was overhearing their discussion.

  ‘‘I apologize if my words seem out of line,’’ Karen said, meeting Myrtle’s fixed gaze. ‘‘I didn’t mean to overly influence Grace’s thinking, but rather seek to protect her.’’

  ‘‘I realize that, my dear. You are not to receive an upbraiding by me.’’ Myrtle looked to her daughter. ‘‘Would you like to consider accompanying Karen north?’’

  Grace seemed even more shocked by this question. She was speechless for a moment, so Myrtle continued. ‘‘If your aunt would act as chaperone,’’ she told Karen, ‘‘I would be willing to consider the matter. We, of course, cannot say anything to Mr. Hawkins. He has his reasons for being fixed in his opinions, but I will agree with you—his thinking is less than rational in regard to whatever debt he owes Mr. Paxton.’’

  ‘‘I would like to go with Karen,’’ Grace finally replied. ‘‘I would do anything to keep from marrying Martin Paxton . . . even risk Father’s disassociation.’’

  Myrtle nodded. ‘‘We may both have exactly that by the time this ordeal is completed.’’

  4

  —[ CHAPTER FOUR ]—

  AFTER A WEEK of feigning ill in order to allow the bruising on her cheek to heal, Grace was surprised when her mother suggested they go en masse and visit with Karen’s aunt Doris.

  ‘‘I’m certain the woman can help us to figure out what should be done,’’ Myrtle said rather conspiratorially.

  ‘‘But, Mother,’’ Grace said as she adjusted her walking-out bonnet, ‘‘what would Father say if he knew you were doing this? I don’t wish to come between you two. If Karen and I arrange this on our own, you can honestly say that you had no knowledge of the circumstances.’’

  Myrtle looked at her daughter with such sorrow that Grace nearly broke into tears. It wasn’t like her mother to have fears and regrets. Until now her mother’s only concerns had been their social status, and this sudden change in her left Grace confused.

  ‘‘I’ve been dealing with my heart, Grace. I know how consumed I’ve been by things that are unimportant.’’ She reached out and lovingly touched her grown daughter’s face. ‘‘I suppose seeing the way Mr. Paxton hurt you opened my eyes— rather like having the scales fall off. I think I was like the blind man in the Bible. Remember when the pastor spoke about the man whom Jesus touched? At first he only saw people as trees. Oh, God forgive me, but I think that is how I have been these long years.’’

  ‘‘No, Mother, you only did what you thought right. You wanted us to have good things.’’

  Her mother nodded. ‘‘Yes, but I sacrificed a good relationship with you. We could have been great friends. Instead, Karen knows you better than I do.’’ She glanced to the governess and smiled. ‘‘How grateful I am that God sent you into our lives, Karen. I know He realized exactly what Grace needed. A big sister and mother all rolled into one. I’m glad she loves you so.’’

  Grace reached out and embraced her mother. The tears were no longer held back. ‘‘But I love you as well.’’

  Her mother held her tightly for several moments. ‘‘I know,’’ she whispered. ‘‘I love you too. I love you enough to take you away from this situation until I can find out what is causing your father such a lapse in good judgment.’’

  Hours later Grace found herself seated between Karen and her mother, while Doris Pierce, a rather severe-looking spinster, considered their plight.

  ‘‘I do agree it’s well past time to do something about Wilmont. I cannot abide that he should be among the tribes of the frozen north and not know whether he lives or has gone on to glory.’’

  ‘‘I suggest that we might go north to Skagway, Aunt Doris,’’ Karen began. ‘‘The situation is most urgent, and I fear that my father might very well need me.’’

  ‘‘He may need us both, child. There is much to be done among primitive peoples.’’ She smiled, suddenly breaking the look of sternness, ‘‘And much to be done with the Indians as well.’’ She laughed at this, but it puzzled Grace as to what she was talking about.

  ‘‘I’ve heard tell that more and more folks are headed up that way. Fur trapping, outlaw dealings, gold . . . You know, it’s enough to cause a man to kill.’’ She sobered. ‘‘I suppose that would be my biggest concern. How can I possibly agree to take two young women into the unknown with nothing more than myself and my trusty Winchester for protection?’’

  ‘‘I’m hardly one to be worried over, Aunt,’’ Karen replied. ‘‘And we’ll be careful with Grace—we’ll dress her in unattractive clothes, bind her hair, and keep her head covered. As you have always told me, there is much a woman can do to refrain from bringing herself undo attention.’’

  ‘‘Oh goodness, yes,’’ Doris Pierce replied. ‘‘Why, we could even dress in breeches if the notion took us.’’ She laughed again and to Grace she seemed such a mixture of contrasting personalities. One minute she was stern and severe, relating nothing but the worst of agendas. The next, she was laughing and making humorous statements—downplaying the dangers.

  ‘‘The situation is most grievous to me,’’ Myrtle suddenly offered. ‘‘I w
orry that should Grace remain anywhere in close proximity, Mr. Paxton and her father would simply find her and bring her back to face a fate worse than death.’’

  ‘‘Well,’’ Doris answered, ‘‘death is very much a reality up north. Alaska killed my sister-in-law. It could well do the same to your child.’’

  Myrtle nodded and seemed to contemplate the words. Grace felt as if she weren’t even in the room. They didn’t need her in order to continue the conversation.

  ‘‘Perhaps better to die at the hands of God’s creation than at the hands of a cruel man,’’ Myrtle finally replied. She reached out and squeezed Grace’s hand. ‘‘I feel confident that despite the defiance of my husband’s wishes, this is exactly the right thing to do. I cannot hope for you to understand, but I feel very much as if I am saving Grace’s life.’’

  Grace felt her pulse quicken. She’d never heard her mother speak in such a fashion. Did her mother know something more than what she’d revealed? True, Paxton had cruelly hit her, but Grace hardly saw that as a suggestion of deadly intent. Still, she knew a growing worry that Paxton would hurt her in many ways beyond just the physical. She didn’t want to be wife to him, neither did she want to see her father ruined.

  ‘‘What about Father?’’ she questioned.

  All three women turned to look at her rather intently. Grace felt the need to explain. ‘‘What will Mr. Paxton do to him?’’

  ‘‘Your father owes Mr. Paxton money,’’ Myrtle Hawkins replied. ‘‘I feel there is surely more to it than that, but if there is, he will not tell me. Part of my penance for this situation will be that I sell whatever is necessary for him to meet his debt to Paxton.’’

  ‘‘No!’’ Grace exclaimed. ‘‘I won’t allow you to suffer on my behalf.’’

  ‘‘Grace, should I allow you to marry Mr. Paxton, I will suffer dearly on your behalf.’’

  ‘‘Well, it sounds as if we have no choice,’’ Doris interjected.

  ‘‘We can make our way within a fortnight. We’ll take the train to Seattle, where Karen’s oldest sister lives with her husband and family. From there, we will secure passage on a steamer and go north to Skagway.’’

  ‘‘You will need money,’’ Myrtle declared. ‘‘I will provide enough to help with the journey for all three of you. I know it is the only way to keep Grace safe. Once Mr. Paxton and Frederick realize she has gone, I’m certain my husband will do whatever it takes to locate her. It could very well be possible that Mr. Paxton will initiate his own search.’’

  ‘‘If he is as determined as you suggest, what is to keep him from hiring someone to follow you and Grace even now?’’ Doris questioned.

  Myrtle looked to Grace and then to Karen. ‘‘After encountering Mr. Paxton’s threats, it is very possible. I hadn’t even considered it. We should take every precaution.’’

  ‘‘Well, for all purposes, Mrs. Hawkins, this looks to be nothing more than a social visit. We have gone together to visit your friends on many occasions. This will look like nothing more than that,’’ Karen suggested.

  Grace nodded, seeing how pale her mother had become. ‘‘Yes, I agree. We need to concern ourselves more with how to escape when the time comes to leave for good.’’

  ‘‘Perhaps we can work on ways to throw this Mr. Paxton off the trail,’’ Doris said, strumming her fingers lightly on the armrest of her chair. ‘‘I do believe there are some rather capable theater students who live just two blocks down. They were once students of mine when I taught secondary classes. I just might enlist their help. Perhaps we could have them pose as Karen and Grace and send them in one direction, while the girls join me to head in the other.’’

  ‘‘Do you think we stand a chance of making it work?’’ Myrtle asked quite seriously.

  Doris smiled. ‘‘I have a reputation for making the impossible work. With God, all things are possible.’’

  Karen laughed aloud at this. ‘‘And with Aunt Doris, God has extra help to see matters to completion.’’

  ‘‘Then can we count on you to aid us in our hour of need?’’ Myrtle asked hopefully.

  ‘‘Oh, absolutely. I’ve not had a great adventure since five years ago when I accompanied several maiden teachers to tour the falls of Niagara.’’

  Karen smiled reassuringly at Grace. ‘‘She didn’t lose anybody then. I’m certain she’ll not lose anyone this time.’’

  Myrtle sat quietly in Grace’s sitting room. Grace sat near her on the sofa and together they whispered and plotted while Karen made notes.

  ‘‘My heart is so heavy,’’ Myrtle said, leaning back as if physically taxed. ‘‘I have wasted many good years on the insignificant.’’

  ‘‘But, Mother, you were brought up to care about such things. Grandmother placed great importance on social standings. You mustn’t blame yourself for what has happened.’’

  ‘‘Oh, but I do,’’ Myrtle replied. ‘‘When your brother died as a little one, I thought my heart might break within me. Then I had you and I feared letting the bonds be too close. I didn’t want to endure that pain again. I put you from me and chose instead to care about things.’’

  She looked into her daughter’s face. Only the slightest hint of the bruise remained on Grace’s cheek. The handprint had been a strong reminder to Myrtle that her priorities had suffered greatly over the last twenty years. The past week had been a time of deep prayer and regret. Regret that she could have been so blind. Regret that she could not take back the choices—that she could not turn back the hands of time.

  ‘‘I shall miss you so dearly,’’ Myrtle said in a whisper. Her voice broke despite her efforts to keep her emotions at bay. ‘‘I feel as though I’m just seeing you for the first time, only to send you away.’’

  ‘‘No more trees?’’ Grace asked softly.

  Myrtle shook her head and reached out to take hold of Grace’s hand. ‘‘No more trees. No more wealth above people. No more concern over social matters at the detriment of my loved ones. Grace, you must listen to me. I have no idea what kind of power Martin Paxton has over our financial well-being, but I do not want you to concern yourself with it. If we should lose it all, then so be it. I cannot stand by and be the woman I once was.’’ She bowed her head. ‘‘I’m so ashamed that it should take something like this to open my eyes. How blind I have been.’’

  ‘‘Mother, I don’t understand,’’ Grace said, putting her free hand atop her mother’s chilled fingers. ‘‘This matter is grave, no doubt. But the seriousness in which you see it alarms me. I don’t understand.’’

  Myrtle met her child’s gaze. ‘‘I can’t say that I totally understand it myself. I have never been given to questioning your father’s authority, but something in me rises up to rebel. I fear for you. I do not like Martin Paxton, and that he should exercise such demands on your father only proves that he is ruthless and unfeeling. I simply fear the outcome might be far worse than any of us could even now suspect.’’

  ‘‘Then I will go, and I will endeavor not to fret over you and Father. You must promise to write me, however. You must write or I will go mad with worry.’’

  ‘‘I will write,’’ Myrtle promised. ‘‘When it seems safe to do so, I will write.’’

  5

  —[ CHAPTER FIVE ]—

  DEVIL’S CREEK, COLORADO

  BILL BARRINGER paced the small cabin in a determined manner. For all intents he looked to be a man with a purpose, but nothing could be further from the truth. If he did have a purpose, it was only to keep the fear he felt inside from finding an outward expression. He tried very hard, for the sake of his two children, not to look worried.

  ‘‘Will Mama have the baby soon?’’ twelve-year-old Leah asked softly.

  ‘‘I’m sure she will,’’ Bill replied. He ruffled the dark curls of his youngest. ‘‘Pretty soon you won’t be the baby of the family anymore.’’

  ‘‘But I’ll still be your princess, right, Papa?’’

  Bill smiled. Leah looked so mu
ch like her mother. Soft dark curls, big blue eyes. Why, even at this tender age she bore the clear markings of a beautiful young woman. Before he knew it she would be courting and then married, and forgotten would be the days when she was her papa’s princess.

  ‘‘You’ll always be my princess,’’ he promised. ‘‘No matter if this baby is a boy or a girl, you’ll have that special place.’’

  Leah smiled and went back to her sewing.

  ‘‘Why can’t Leah cook the supper?’’ Jacob grumbled from the hearth. At fourteen, he was absolutely convinced that cooking was woman’s work.

  ‘‘Leah’s doing the mendin’,’’ Bill answered. ‘‘Besides, you’re perilously close to being a grown man. You need to know how to fend for yourself. Cookin’ a meal ain’t nothing to be ashamed of.’’

  Jacob lifted the ladle to sample the stew. ‘‘I think it’s just about done.’’

  Bill nodded. ‘‘Better check on the biscuits.’’

  With his son momentarily occupied, Bill cast a quick glance at the bedroom door. His wife, Patience, as good as her name, hadn’t uttered a sound since taking to her bed. A midwife from nearby had come to tend to the delivery, but other than an occasional instruction murmured in a low, hushed voice, even the midwife was silent.

  I should never have left Denver, Bill reasoned as he resumed his pacing. At least in Denver they had lived in a decent house and he had held a regular job that brought in steady pay. But Denver had represented failure to Bill. A dozen years earlier he had been on top of the world. Rich from a bonanza of silver, Bill had taken the world for a ride—a wild, exciting ride that had merited him a house of some means and a happy family. Patience had lived the life of privilege he had always promised, and Bill had actually felt proud of his accomplishments.

  They weren’t rich by Vanderbilt or Astor standards, by any means. But they were happy and comfortable and well set. At least they had been until silver was devalued in 1893 and depression set in across the country. Bill had gone from a life of happiness to one of fear and worry practically overnight. But that fear and worry were nothing compared to what he felt now.