September's Dream (6 page)

"Get moving, girl. It’s practically light outside."

September rolled from her blanket and groped her way in the near-darkness to the porch, where she pulled on her only dress.

The days and nights which followed were a blur of aching muscles, impossibly hard physical labor, and exhausted sleep which ended all too soon. Each morning, September had to call on a well of energy which she hadn’t known she possessed. But though the work was draining, like all work it soon became routine. And her young body responded to the demands.

She was clean, well fed, and she had a roof over her head each night. But this wasn’t her ultimate goal. Undaunted by the stories she heard about the horrible ice fields, her plan to earn enough to find her father continued to grow in her heart.

The first opportunity presented itself in the grub tent.

The miner was young, probably no more than thirty. But the long months in the Yukon had taken their toll. His teeth were rotting. He walked with a slight stoop. His fingers seemed permanently gnarled from the pickax he wielded and the frigid climate of the ice fields. A length of rope held his jacket closed against the cold.

As she ladled steaming stew into a tin bowl, the miner asked September, "Can you sew, girlie?"

She looked up, nodding. "But I don’t have a needle or thread."

"I’ll give you the money for them. You can pick them up at Mueller’s Store tonight. And there’s a dollar in it if you’ll sew some buttons on this jacket by tomorrow."

A dollar. For a few minute’s work. She nodded eagerly and held out her hand for the coins. "It’s a deal."

Another miner spoke up. "This is my only shirt. It’s in tatters. I’ll pay you a dollar to mend the holes."

She studied the filthy rag the man was wearing. "Two dollars and it’ll be clean as well."

He considered the offer. Finally he agreed, pulling it off and slipping his arms into a worn jacket. "All right. But I want it back tomorrow."

"You’ll have it."

Three dollars. Plus the two Aggie promised her. As she pushed the cart over the ruts toward the boarding house, September’s mind began to calculate. There were probably plenty of people in this town who needed sewing done. She would have to find a way to locate them. But how?

As she passed Rawlins’ Saloon, the tinny sounds of a piano filtered on the night air. With a sigh of impatience, September maneuvered around a rock, then dropped the handles of the cart for a moment’s rest. Two men shoved their way through the swinging doors, and September caught sight of a woman in a bright red gown. The sound of her singing drifted from the room, and September smiled at the familiar refrain. At the smattering of applause, September lifted the handles and started on her way.

As she rounded the side of the building, she heard a coarse woman’s voice.

". . . damned dress is falling apart. When I hit my high note I felt the back seam give way. I had to back off the stage so the men wouldn’t see my corset."

September froze. She swallowed back her nervousness, then pushed the barrow closer to the darkened figures.

Her trembling voice sounded even lower in the darkness. "I’m a very good seamstress. I’d be happy to mend your gown."

"Who the hell’s that?"

September moved into the circle of light. "My name’s September. I’m a good seamstress. Would you like me to mend your gown?"

The buxom woman, with yellow hair and two round smudges of rouge on her cheeks, studied the slender girl in the filthy black dress.

"Sure, kid. Why not? How much?"

September took a deep breath. Boldly she said, "Two dollars for minor repairs. Three dollars for big jobs."

"Three dollars? Stay right there, kid."

The woman disappeared inside the door. A minute later she returned with her arms piled high with dresses. To her companion she said, "Snake said for three bucks apiece we can have a whole new wardrobe. Be sure to check all the seams, kid."

Snake? September decided not to ask too many questions, or the woman might change her mind. "When do you need these?"

The woman shrugged. "Bring me the purple one tomorrow. Take your time with the rest. But not too long," she cautioned.

September piled the dresses in the cart and hurried on to Mueller’s Store, where she bought a needle and several spools of thread, along with some sturdy wooden buttons.

"Will there be anything else?"

The coins in her pocket gave September courage. Walking between rows of shelves piled high with grain, bolts of fabric, canned goods, and dried food, she wondered what it would be like to be able to choose anything she wanted. That’s what she’d do when she found her father and they cashed in the gold he’d mined.

"I have a job now, Mr. Mueller. Would you be willing to trust me to have an account here?"

Jacob Mueller had dealt with a lot of people since setting up his store in Skagway. He prided himself on being able to tell which ones would honor a debt and which ones would try to dodge. He made his decision quickly.

"More than happy to oblige, Miss Malloy."

September was pleased that he remembered her name. And even more pleased that he trusted her.

"Fine," she said, indicating some jars of home canning. "I’ll take these with me, if you can help me load them onto my wagon."

If Jacob Mueller was surprised at the crude pushcart she indicated, he didn’t let on. "Thank you, Miss Malloy. I’m happy to be of service."

With a smile softening her features, September lifted the handles and pushed her treasures toward the boardinghouse.

As she did each night, September scrubbed the pots and hauled water in the big kettles to the kitchen stove. When her chores were finished, she washed her clothes and strung them along the back porch. This time she added the miner’s shirt to the washload before taking her sponge bath. Toweling her hair dry, she wrapped herself in the rough blanket and curled into the corner of the steamy kitchen. She needed to retire quickly. Her days were about to begin even earlier than before. There was money to be made. And September had no time to waste.

*  *  *

In the morning, Aggie Whelan clumped out to the kitchen in her familiar britches and work boots. September had already mended the miner’s shirt and sewn buttons on the other miner’s jacket, as well as mending two of the saloon girl’s dresses. Draped over the porch rail, they fluttered in the breeze like bright sails.

"What’s this?" Aggie demanded.

"Mending. For some extra money," September said casually.

"Yeah?" Aggie surveyed the scene with her hands on her hips. "I don’t care what you do in your spare time. Just don’t let it get in the way of your chores, or you’re out on your ear. Understand?"

September nodded. "I did this on my own time, Aggie. I won’t let it interfere with my work."

"See that you don’t." She sniffed the air, then peered in the oven. "What you got baking this early in the day?"

"Pies. When I was in Mueller’s Store last night to buy my sewing supplies, I noticed some jars of blueberry preserves his wife put up. I figured the miners will pay good money for something sweet."

Aggie studied her through narrowed eyes. "And just how did you figure to pay for all this?"

"I started an account at Mueller’s Store. I’ll keep track of what I owe you for the pie dough. You can deduct it on payday. Then I’ll square it with Mr. Mueller." She gave the woman a radiant smile. "And the rest is profit."

The big woman looked at her with new respect. "You could be onto something. There’s a heap of men in this town doing without a woman’s comfort. Maybe they’ll even pay more for homemade blueberry pie than they will for stew."

September nodded. "I’m counting on it."

"But you intend to sell them in my grub tent." The woman’s eyes glittered as she calculated. "So you’re cutting in on my profits." She pinned September with a hard gaze. "I’ll let it go, long as you’re willing to split fifty-fifty."

September whirled from the stove. "That isn’t fair. I do all the work and you grab half the profits."

"What’s fair is you have a place to sleep, thanks to me. And if I didn’t have that grub tent, you’d have no place to sell your pies."

September considered. "Sixty-forty. I bought the blueberries and did the work."

Aggie’s lips thinned. "Fifty-fifty. And I’ll buy the next batch of supplies."

"And help me bake?"

Aggie chewed her hp. This kid was sharper than most. Reluctantly she relented. "Okay. But if I catch you falling down on the chores I hired you to do, the deal’s off."

"Don’t worry, Aggie," September laughed. "I can keep up as long as you can." As Aggie crossed the room, September cleared her throat. "Aggie, what do you know about someone called Snake?"

The woman turned. "Snake Rawlins?" Her face darkened with anger. "He owns the biggest saloon in town. He’s quick with a gun. I’ve heard about a lot of shootings in Snake’s place, but the law never charges him. Seems he always has a lot of witnesses on his side. He’s thought up more ways to con a miner out of his gold than anyone in this town. And believe me, there are a lot of thieves in Skagway."

"Why is he called Snake?"

Aggie laughed. "There’s so many rumors, take your pick. I heard he won that saloon by plunking down a thousand dollars and betting he could turn up snake eyes on one toss of the dice."

"And did he?"

The older woman shook her head. "Beats me. All I know is after just one day in Skagway, he owned the place."

"What are the other rumors?"

"Some say he greases his hair with snake oil. It sure is shiny." Her eyes glittered. "And of course, some say he’s called Snake because he’s the slipperiest man in Alaska. All I know is, he’s the most charming rascal this town’s ever seen." Her voice lowered. "But don’t let that charm fool you. I’ve heard he rules his girls with an iron hand. And if anybody starts a gunfight in Rawlins’ Saloon, Snake finishes it. He’s mean. No doubt about it." She looked sharply at September. "Why’d you ask?"

September shrugged. "I did some mending for his girls. One of them mentioned Snake." She picked up a pot and headed for the stove. "It’s an odd name."

As she hurried about her morning chores, Aggie watched her closely, hoping to find something to complain about. Secretly she admitted to herself that September Malloy was just about the best bargain she’d ever stumbled onto. But the girl was too ambitious to stay in debt to her for long.

*  *  *

When September arrived at the grub tent that day with the miner’s clothes neatly sewn, there were six other miners waiting with shirts and pants that needed mending. Doing some quick mental calculating, she realized that she could easily earn enough to pay for a room at Aggie’s and give up the tedious chores which ate up so much of her precious time. With the morning chores out of the way, she could do twice as much sewing and earn even more.

The pies were a huge success. As Aggie had predicted, some miners were willing to do without stew just so they could afford the luxury of a slice of blueberry pie. For most, it had been months since they’d tasted anything that reminded them so much of the home they’d left behind.

Gathering up the empty pots and tins, September pushed the cart along the dusty trail. In the gathering darkness, she fretted over the decision she would have to make. It would cost her seven dollars a week to rent a room at Aggie’s. Seven precious dollars. But she needed a room of her own and more time each day if she wanted to keep up with the demand for her sewing talents. Deep in thought, she paused at Rawlins’ Saloon to drop off the purple dress she had mended.

Snake Rawlins was standing near the bar, keeping one eye on the faro game in the corner. He glanced up idly as the girl entered the bar. With one glance he could tell she’d never been in a saloon before. Her head swiveled left and right as she looked over the men playing poker. Her head came up sharply at a burst of raucous laughter from the faro table. Nervously moving through the crowds, she headed for the back room.

Leaning his back to the bar, Snake allowed his gaze to trail slowly over her. The black wool dress covered more than it revealed. But he could make out high, firm breasts and a waist small enough for a man’s hands to span. As she walked, her hips swayed in an almost rhythmic movement. That walk could drive a man crazy.

On an impulse, he jammed a cigar in his mouth and followed her.

The brassy-haired woman was wearing nothing but a corset and a flimsy flowered wrap. She stood with one foot on a chair, straightening a lacy stocking. At September’s knock, she called out, "Come on in."

September paused in the doorway, embarrassed to have caught a stranger in the act of dressing.

"I’ll wait out here," she said, backing away.

"Hell, kid. Come on in. I see you brought the dress."

As September closed the door, Snake stopped it with his foot before it closed completely. With her back to him, September was unaware of his presence.

The woman looked over the dress carefully, testing each seam. Satisfied, she hung it on a rack and reached down the front of her robe, extracting a handful of bills. September tried not to stare.

"Two dollars for that one, or three?"

September swallowed. "Three. I had to go over every seam."

Handing her the bills, the woman said, "When you bring back the rest of the dresses, I’ll have some more. Snake wants you to repair everything in the closet."

"Thanks. I appreciate the work." September cleared her throat. "And pass the word. I’ll take all the jobs I can."

The woman nodded. "You’re a lifesaver, kid. I hate sewing almost as much as I hate this lousy town."

"Then why do you stay?"

"’Cause Snake says there’s big money to be made here. And I intend to get my share." She laughed. "Some of these miners haven’t seen a woman for months at a time. Believe me, this old body looks pretty good to a love-starved prospector."

"You don’t mind them staring at you?"

The woman threw back her head and laughed. "That’s part of my job, letting them look."

September’s gaze roamed the flowered kimono which hugged the ample curves of the big woman. The low-cut neckline revealed freckled skin and drooping breasts. Her arms, beneath the short sleeves, sagged in little pouches of flab. Her stomach, even with the aid of a corset, bulged below a thick waist.

"What if they want to do more than look?"

The woman seemed to stare beyond September, toward the door. Her voice was suddenly stern. "I’d advise you not to ask too many impertinent questions, girlie. Stick to your sewing."

September nodded, then turned away. A shadow flickered across the doorway. Footsteps could be heard beyond. As she made her way through the saloon, she felt her flesh prickle, as if someone had lightly brushed her skin. Glancing around, she saw no one close enough to touch her. But at the bar one man, taller than the others, stared at her as if he could see clear through to her bones.

Picking up the handles of her cart, September plodded back toward the boardinghouse. There were all kinds of people in this dirty little town, she realized. And all of them were trying to figure out ways to earn money.