September's Dream (2 page)

*  *  *

September’s slumber lasted less than three hours. She was awakened by the frantic movements of the young mother beside her.

She sat up, forcing the last cobwebs of sleep from her mind. "What’s wrong?"

Fearful brown eyes looked up. "Will’s worse. His poor little body is on fire."

September reached over to touch his forehead. The fever raged through him, leaving his skin burning, his body limp.

"We need to break that fever." Quickly untangling herself from the shawl, she stood. "I’ll get some water." She returned with a bucket and began to bathe the little boy’s face and neck.

The young mother knelt beside her, wringing her hands. "Tell me what to do."

"First, remove the bulky coats and bathe his entire body. We have to cool him down."

They worked quickly, gently bathing the feverish skin. "Here, Will," September urged. "Drink this."

She held a dipper to the boy’s lips and managed to force several drops down before his mouth closed. "See that you keep him sipping water. As much as he’ll allow."

Buttoning his shirt, she wrapped him in a blanket, then in her mother’s heavy coat.

"What should we do now?" his mother whispered.

September took one look at the haggard features, the glittering eyes, and said firmly, "We’ve done all we can for now. I’ll sit with Will. You lie on my blanket and get some sleep."

"Oh, no. I can’t," she protested weakly. "I have to take care of my baby."

"You’re not to argue." September took her arm and gently forced her down. "I’ll wake you if there’s any change. Right now, you’re nearly asleep on your feet."

Though she protested again, the tired young woman eased her weary body onto the blanket. Within minutes, she fell into an exhausted sleep.

*  *  *

For the rest of the night, and the following day, Will’s fever hung on, draining every ounce of strength from his frail body. September’s knuckles were raw from scrubbing the floor around him. The fetid air was a constant reminder of his sickness.

September and his young mother took turns sitting with the boy, while the other rested. They would have to conserve their strength in case the mysterious fever dragged on for any length of time.

The day dawned bright and clear, and September hurried up on deck, relieved to be free, for even a short time, from the stench below.

Inching her way through the crowd, she stood at the rail and breathed deeply. Staring at the horizon, she searched for a sign of land. What strange world had beckoned her? What would she find at Skagway, when the boat docked?
My father
, she thought fiercely.
He’ll ride up to the docks in a fine rig, ready to bring his gold home to us. He’ll see me, and rush to take me in his arms. And I’ll break the sad news, and we can comfort each other before we set off for a life of ease.

She longed to stay above deck all day, basking in the sunlight, breathing in the salty air. But the thought of that frightened young woman below, cradling her weakened little boy, caused her to hurry back.

"Any change?" September knelt down beside the two figures.

The woman shook her head. Her eyes were dull from lack of sleep.

"I’ll stay with Will now. You go above and get some air."

"In a while." The woman traced her finger across his forehead, smoothing the damp hair. "You’ve been so good to us. I don’t even know your name."

"September. September Malloy."

The woman extended a thin hand. "Nell Brooks."

"Why are you and Will going to Alaska?"

A smile lit the plain features. "My husband, Jack, is a packer."

"What’s that?" September smoothed her skirts and sat beside the little boy, who slept fitfully.

"A packer leads pack trains through the Skagway Trail to the Yukon. Jack’s always been good with horses. He’s so valuable, he’s already making five dollars a day and keep."

September heard the note of pride in Nell’s voice. "Where will you and Will stay?"

"Jack’s been saving his money. He’s started a little cabin. He wrote that by the time we get there, he’ll have it finished. It’ll be our own little house." She added, with a note of awe, "We’ve never had a place of our own before."

"That’s wonderful. I’m happy for you. For both of you," September said, glancing at the pale child.

"He has to get better," Nell whispered fiercely, with a catch in her voice. "He just has to. He’s Jack’s whole world. And mine."

September put her arm around the frail shoulders. "He will. Go on now. Get some fresh air, or you’ll be the next one to be sick."

Nell caught her hand. "You’re a good friend, September. My very first friend in this new life."

September smiled as the young woman made her way to the deck.

*  *  *

Sometime during that second night, Will’s fever broke. Holding his hand, September felt for the tremors which had wracked his frail body. There were none. His breathing was steady. Feeling beneath the heavy coats, she realized his skin, though wet with sheen, was cool to the touch. His shirt and pants were soaked with sweat.

"Nell." She touched his mother’s shoulder lightly.

Instantly, the young woman sat up. "What’s wrong?"

September smiled. "Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s just fine. Will’s fever has broken. Feel."

Nell touched his forehead, then reached her hand to the pulse at his throat. The look on her face was radiant.

"He’s going to be all right."

September nodded. "Do you have a change of clothing for him?"

Nell rummaged through the pile of belongings and located a wool shirt and spare britches.

"You’d better change him. Tomorrow, we can wash out his clothes and hang them from the railing above deck to dry."

In no time, the little boy was dressed in fresh clothes. Snuggling beside him, Nell draped her blanket over the two of them.

"Take back your coat, September. You’ve earned a warm bed."

With a smile, September picked up her mother’s bulky wrap. Before she slept, she needed fresh air. As she turned, Nell called, "And by the way, friend, thank you. I’m forever in your debt."

With a light heart, September made her way to the mist-shrouded deck.

The stars were obscured tonight by the swirling fog. Little wisps at first drifted across the deck, hovering like ghostly veils. Then the mist thickened until even the ship’s rail was swallowed up, lost in a thick shroud. The night air was damp, frigid, the kind of cold that penetrated the bones.

Few brave souls were out on a grim night such as this. But as they had on previous nights, two men, one of them unaware of the other, stood in the shadows, watching all that went on. One pair of eyes narrowed at the delicate figure which emerged from below. The other pair of eyes brightened with new interest. September hesitated. In the glow of the lantern, she pulled on the bulky coat and buttoned it against the cold.

Jase Conroy’s black gaze remained on the girl he had seen the other night. With no particular interest, he watched her pick her way across the deck. Though he had known a few in his twenty-five years, women weren’t his particular area of expertise. He was a stalker of men.

This one, though, commanded his attention. He could still recall the stirrings deep within him when her shawl had slipped, revealing unusual pale, silvery hair. There had been something noble about the way she had lifted that proud chin, as if to defy the cold, the darkness, the vastness of the ocean. And now, for just a moment, he had glimpsed the body beneath the oversized coat. Again he felt the flicker of excitement.

He found himself annoyed at the way his thoughts were drifting and pulled up the hood of his parka, covering thick, dark hair that curled slightly about his temple and forehead. She was just another female, chasing after a quick fortune. Maybe a dance hall girl, or worse, a saloon girl, hoping to lure some poor minor into her clutches. Once she had the pleasure of spending his gold, she’d move on to the next.

The deck was slick with moisture. September made her way carefully to the rail. She was so weary, movement was an effort. Recalling the odor of sickness below deck, she fought down a feeling of nausea. If it weren’t so bitterly cold, she would stay here all night rather than face that stench once more.

Between patches of fog, she spotted a star overhead. One tiny glimmer of hope in the blackness.

Squeezing her lids, she whispered, "I wish. Oh, I wish . . ."

"What do you wish?"

At the masculine voice, September whirled. "I didn’t hear you coming." She gripped the railing tightly, feeling the pounding of her heartbeat.

"No. I can see that. I suppose you were too busy wishing."

She took a step aside, and he joined her at the railing.

"What were you wishing for?"

Up close, she could see laughing blue eyes, crinkled at the corners. A smile touched his lips. There was a faint odor of spicy soap about him. He wore no hat, and his blond hair was pale in the darkness.

"I was wishing I didn’t have to go below."

"Why bother? Stay here. The night air is bracing."

She laughed. It was a wonderful, husky sound in the darkness. "Bracing? Is that what you call it? I’m freezing."

He closed his hand around hers, feeling the delicate bones. Although her bulky coat hid most of her, he could tell that she was slender. With that pale, oval face and delicate, high cheekbones, she was a rare beauty.

"That’s because you don’t have any alcohol in your blood. Up in Alaska, everyone drinks whiskey to stay warm."

"Do they? Now I know I’m going to freeze," she laughed, firmly pulling her hand away. She stepped back a respectable distance.

"You don’t drink whiskey?" The blue eyes watched her carefully. A beauty like this was seldom seen on so perilous a crossing.

She shook her head.

"I didn’t think so. You have the look of a—nice girl. Why are you headed to Alaska?"

"I’m going to join my father."

"He sent for you?"

She licked her lips. Lying didn’t come easily to September. "Yes."

"Where are you meeting him?"

"Skagway." She stared into the fog, avoiding his eyes.
Please
, she thought desperately,
please be at Skagway.

The wind picked up, lashing a damp spray against her cheeks. With a violent tremor, September turned away from the rail. "I must get below."

His hand rested on her arm, with just the slightest pressure. "Wait. I have an idea."

A tiny thread of alarm curled itself along her spine. She paused, and met his smile.

"I have a private cabin. I’m traveling to Alaska on business. I—relish the night air. In fact, I had planned to stay out on deck all night, just to indulge myself. Why don’t you use my cabin tonight?"

"I couldn’t." Her eyes widened at his suggestion. Before he could speak, she bolted across the deck.

"I see I’ve shocked you." He hurried after her. "You misunderstand my intentions, Miss . . ."

"Malloy." She slowed, but continued toward the stairs.

"Miss Malloy, my name is Deke Kenyon, of Kenyon Mines. I assure you, you’ll be perfectly safe. I’ll even give you the key to my stateroom. You may lock yourself in, and everyone else will be effectively locked out. All I wanted was to offer you a night’s sleep, undisturbed by sound or—smell."

At the word
smell
, she halted. Her stomach was already lurching at the thought of what awaited her below.

He held out the key. "It would make me very happy to know that someone benefited from my bed while I walked the deck in search of invigorating night air."

"I don’t think . . ." Her gaze fastened on the key.

"Please, Miss Malloy. You would be doing me a great favor."

The wind whipped at her shawl and lifted her hair, flaying damp tendrils against her cheek. She shivered, and his hand was immediately beneath her elbow, guiding her back along the deck toward the private staterooms.

Inserting the key, he opened the door. A bunk, with crisp white linens, stood in invitation. At the foot of the bed were several folded blankets. The same rich, spicy scent which surrounded him lingered on the air of his cabin. In one corner was a chest. Below the porthole stood a washstand with a basin of water, hard-milled, fragrant soap, and fluffy towels.

A bath. September hadn’t had a sponge bath since she left San Francisco. Her teeth chattered, and she pressed her lips firmly together, hoping he couldn’t hear the sound.

She felt the warmth of the cabin weaving its magic. Just standing in the doorway, surrounded by such luxury, she wanted to curl up in that wonderful, clean bunk and sleep forever.

With a smile, the stranger handed her the key. "If you’d like, Miss Malloy, you may stay the night. This key will keep out all intruders, including myself. In the morning, after a bath and breakfast of course, you will be free to leave."

Her voice felt choked in her throat. With barely a whisper, she asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"Why?" His gaze roamed appreciatively over the wisps of silvery hair that trailed her neck and kissed her cheeks. He gazed deeply into those incredibly lovely star-eyes. "Because I saw you at the rail, Miss Malloy. And I realized that you are a fine lady, who shouldn’t be subjected to that suffocating mass of humanity below."

"I can’t pay you," she whispered.

"I shall expect none. Your comfort is payment enough."

Before she could speak, he turned and walked away. For a long moment, September simply stood, watching his retreating figure. Were there strings attached to this fine gift? Would he show up tomorrow, demanding payment for this room? Would he try to take advantage of her ignorance?

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. September was so weary, she could think of nothing except that clean bunk and the wonderful fragrance of soap. Warmth. Food. Sleep. She had found heaven.

In the darkness, Jase Conroy watched, with the detached patience of a hunter. Gripping the rail he felt a tightness in his stomach at the sound of her husky laughter. He realized he hadn’t wanted to be right about her. He was becoming too jaded. He was beginning to look for the worst in everyone. And most often, they didn’t let him down. But this time, he had wanted her to be better than the others. He studied the bulky figure bathed in the warm glow of the cabin. In his mind’s eye, he could still see the slender body he had viewed for one brief instant before she donned the heavy coat. She’d be very good at her trade. Even from this distance, he could see that she was extraordinarily lovely.

He turned away and stared at the swirling fog. Why should it matter to him? Hadn’t he seen it all? The crooks, the claim jumpers, the con artists? Since the discovery of gold, his pristine corner of the world had become infested with them. Lice. All of them.
Welcome back to reality
, he thought grimly.

He frowned as he walked away, limping slightly. Turning, he gave a last glance at the now closed door of the private cabin. After the last few weeks of rest and recovery in a peaceful haven, he had almost forgotten for a moment what the gold fields had spawned. He was returning to hell.