[Yukon Quest 01] - Treasures Of The North (24 page)
‘‘I want the truth,’’ she stated simply.
‘‘So do I.’’
‘‘I am not going to tell you where Grace has gone. Do what you will to my husband and myself, but my daughter will not suffer your heavy hand again.’’
‘‘And what will she suffer when she learns of her father’s death?’’
‘‘My husband lives.’’
‘‘But not for long, as I understand it.’’
Myrtle forced her expression to remain unchanged. He was crafty and wily, and she knew he wanted her to break. She could feel it—could feel him almost willing her to give up.
Oh,
God, help me. It’s like doing battle with Satan himself
.
‘‘My husband is not the issue, Mr. Paxton. You are. I want to know why you chose our family to destroy. Why you have made it your personal desire to harm us in such a grievous fashion. I don’t recall having any knowledge of you in the past.
I know of no unsettled scores or business problems that should suggest such treatment.’’
‘‘Of course you don’t,’’ Paxton replied, taking out a cigar.
Before he could pinch off the end, Myrtle shook her head.
‘‘I tolerated your ill-mannered behavior once before. I won’t tolerate it again. If you wish to have a conversation with me, you will put that away and save it for another time.’’
He looked at her for a moment, and Myrtle imagined that he was trying to decide whether she’d stand her ground. He was judging her as an opponent.
Myrtle straightened and stiffened her back. She refused to back down and kept her gaze fixed squarely on his face. With a hint of a smile, Paxton tucked the cigar into the inside pocket of his jacket.
‘‘Very well, madam, we shall play it your way for now. You have amused me with your sudden stance.’’
‘‘I have no desire to amuse you or otherwise entertain you. I mean for this to be the last time you darken the door of our home. I mean for there to be an end once and for all to the destruction you have caused my family. And I mean for it to start now.’’
‘‘You have no authority to create such an ending. Your husband is the only one who can see this thing through. And believe me when I say, if you knew the truth of the matter, he would no doubt face it completely alone.’’
‘‘There is nothing you can say or do that will cause me to desert the man I love,’’ Myrtle replied.
‘‘I believe otherwise,’’ Paxton said, this time giving in to a much more evident smile of satisfaction. ‘‘You see, this attempt to eradicate the name of Hawkins has not come about as a random act. Your husband greatly wounded my family many years ago. He destroyed those I loved and cared about most. And now, in the telling of it, I will destroy what he cares about most.’’
‘‘I seriously doubt there is anything you could say or do to cause such a reaction, Mr. Paxton.’’
‘‘We shall see.’’
Peter Colton was almost relieved to find his ship delayed in leaving Skagway’s harbor. A heavy fog was moving in, making it an easy decision to remain where they were. Besides, his conscience was eating him alive and he knew that if he didn’t find a way to apologize to Grace, he’d never be able to sleep through the night. It wasn’t that he thought her beliefs to be right, but he hated to leave with hard feelings between them. Perhaps with a little more effort he could help her to see that he had done nothing but benefit his family. That his ability to reason through difficult decisions and issues made him an asset to those who loved and needed him.
After seeing to his ship and men, Peter made his way to the shores of Dyea once again. A cold, heavy rain began to fall before they actually made it to land, and within moments Peter was drenched to the bone. Sloshing through the muddy streets, Peter felt only moderate relief when the tent store came into sight. No doubt there would be little privacy to discuss what was on his mind, but it didn’t matter. If need be, he’d wait for a time when he could speak to Grace alone, but either way, he would plead his case once again. Shivering from the cold, icy rain, Peter forced his frozen fingers to work at untying the flap of the tent. It seemed to afford a poor method of security, but within moments he found himself face-to-face with Karen Pierce and a very ominous-looking Winchester rifle.
‘‘Oh, it’s you,’’ she said, almost sounding disappointed.
‘‘You were expecting someone else?’’ he questioned.
‘‘We weren’t expecting anyone, hence the reception.’’ She put the rifle aside and reached out to help him with his coat. ‘‘You’d better get out of those wet clothes or you’ll catch pneumonia. Aunt Doris!’’ she called.
Doris appeared from behind the canvas partition they’d affixed between the store and living quarters. ‘‘Oh my,’’ she said, noting Peter’s appearance. ‘‘Whatever made you brave this weather, Captain?’’
‘‘My departure has been delayed by the storm, and I thought . . . well, that is to say . . . I needed to speak with Grace,’’ he said, ignoring Karen’s raised brow.
‘‘Well, perhaps we should get you into something dry first,’’ Doris replied. ‘‘There are some of those apronless overalls you brought up to sell to the miners, as well as a few of those chambray shirts. You should just help yourself and let us get you warmed up. Karen, go bring a blanket for the captain.’’
With a nod, Karen retrieved the Winchester and went into the other section of the tent. Peter, meanwhile, made a forage through the table of goods and found a pair of pants and shirt that would fit him.
‘‘Can’t do much about those boots. Boots sell out about as fast as you bring in a load. You can see for yourself the ones you brought us earlier today are already gone.’’ The older woman seemed to size up the situation while Peter glanced at the shelves behind her. ‘‘We can set them by the stove and hope they dry out. The way this storm looks,’’ Doris continued, ‘‘you might as well just stay the night. Won’t be much of a chance for you to get back to your ship without risking great harm.’’
‘‘That would hardly be fitting,’’ Peter said, surprised to find the very proper spinster suggesting such a thing.
‘‘Pshaw,’’ the woman replied. ‘‘There isn’t a bed available in town. You might as well take one of your own cots and bed down here. It wouldn’t be the first time we had a man under our roof for the night.’’
‘‘Oh?’’
She smiled. ‘‘Am I scandalizing you, Captain Colton?’’
Peter nodded and grinned. ‘‘I believe you are.’’
‘‘Don’t let it bother you. I was just referring to Mr. BARRINGER and his children. Someone ran off with his tent last week, and we had him here overnight before he headed out once again to help up at the Scales.’’
‘‘Did he find who had taken his tent?’’
‘‘No, but I pity the man when they do. Thieves aren’t well received up here. Last week I saw a group of self-appointed officials drive a man out of Dyea with nothing more than the clothes on his back, and all because he attempted to steal a man’s rifle.’’
‘‘Is that why Miss Pierce met me at the door with a loaded Winchester?’’
Doris chuckled. ‘‘We learned early on how to fend for ourselves, Captain. We don’t take chances when we hear someone breaking in to steal your goods.’’
‘‘Has that happened before?’’ he questioned.
‘‘Oh, once or twice, but we always get the drop on them.’’
Peter shook his head. He’d had no idea of what these women were up against. How could he even suggest they continue working in such an arrangement? The dangers might well be too great. On the other hand, he couldn’t very well pack everything up and take it back now. The profits had done wonders for his family. He’d been able to pay back many of the debts they owed, and soon they would be back on their feet, maybe even able to completely overhaul their ships.
‘‘Hello,’’ Grace said, emerging from the back of the tent. She held the blanket that Karen had gone to fetch, and Peter couldn’t help but wonder if Karen had thrust the duty off on Grace, or if Grace had volunteered.
‘‘Leave the blanket and let the captain change,’’ Doris instructed. ‘‘Afterward, you can talk by the fire. This young man is going to be in a bad way if he doesn’t get warm soon.’’ Grace nodded and placed the blanket on the back of a nearby chair. Smiling over her shoulder, she and Doris exited the room to give Peter some much-needed privacy.
Peter quickly changed his clothes and used some of the rope he’d crated in earlier in the day to assemble a clothesline to hang his wet things from. With this accomplished, he pulled the blanket around his shoulders and picked up his soggy boots.
Entering the living quarters of the tent, Peter was rather surprised at how cozy they’d made it. A large crate made a decent table, while overhead they’d managed to rig two hooks from which to hang lanterns. In the corner on cots made up with heavy wool blankets, the Barringer children were caught up reading, with Karen sitting between them to help whenever needed. Doris had built up a fire in the stove, and Grace waited with a cup of hot coffee.
‘‘I should get soaked more often,’’ he said, smiling.
‘‘Sit here, Captain,’’ Doris replied, offering a chair by the stove. Without any further comment, she went back to her sewing.
Peter did as he was instructed, positioning the boots close to the stove. Grace moved forward and took the chair beside him. She extended the cup of coffee almost timidly.
‘‘Are you still mad at me?’’ she questioned.
Peter shook his head. ‘‘I wasn’t mad. I was more . . . well . . . frustrated and maybe a bit . . .’’ He looked around to see if the others were occupied with their own business, then lowered his voice. ‘‘I guess I was hurt.’’
‘‘Because of what I said?’’
‘‘You made me out to be some sort of ogre,’’ he said, warming his hands around the tin coffee cup.
‘‘I didn’t mean to make you sound that way,’’ Grace replied. She kept her voice low, almost hushed, and Peter found that he had to lean close in order to hear her. ‘‘I would like you to better understand what I was trying to say.’’
‘‘I felt the same way, but you go first and then maybe I can explain.’’
Grace glanced upward and met his eyes. ‘‘I meant no disrespect to you regarding your position with your family. I am certain you are a tremendous help to them in times both good and bad. But people will always fail. We are, after all, human. Our choices are not always the wisest, and often we misunderstand what the most appropriate response should be to any given problem.’’
‘‘Granted,’’ he said, nodding. ‘‘People do fail, but we must listen to the counsel of those who are wiser. Surely even your Bible would support this.’’
Grace nodded. ‘‘The Bible indeed tells us to seek wisdom, but God’s wisdom—not people’s. God’s job is His own.’’
‘‘Meaning what?’’
She blushed and looked away. ‘‘Meaning that you should not attempt to take that position in the life of your family. Otherwise, what happens when you fail them?’’
‘‘I won’t fail them,’’ he replied indignantly.
‘‘Everyone fails,’’ Grace replied without a hint of apology. ‘‘God is the only one who never fails. You have put yourself in the position to be a god to your family. You ask them to seek you for their counsel and direction. You would preorder their steps, but God has already seen to that task. I fear your family might suffer far more than they would ever need to suffer if you continue to fight God for first place in their lives.’’
‘‘This is a ridiculous conversation,’’ he said, taking a long drink of the coffee. How could she say these things? Did she not realize how ludicrous she sounded? He pictured his sister looking up at him with great adoration. Miranda would never say such silly things. Yet there was a peaceful, purposeful manner about Grace. She wasn’t ranting and raving at him like a lunatic. She was simply and calmly explaining her beliefs. Her calm only served to unnerve him all the more.
‘‘I don’t see this as a ridiculous conversation,’’ Grace finally said. ‘‘One of these days, I fear something will happen. Your family will seek you for help—for their salvation—and you will fail them. When that happens, I can’t help but wonder what will happen to their vision of God. Or for that matter, their elevated vision of you.’’
WITH WINTER COMING on in the northern territories, Peter was certain the demand for passage north would slow. He didn’t find this to be the case, however. So despite the opportunity to service paying customers in Seattle, Peter made the decision to return to San Francisco. He needed to see his family, especially in light of everything Grace had said. For weeks her statements had lingered in his thoughts, and there was no way to exorcise the torment without spending time with those who loved and understood him.
But now, hours after enjoying a delicious meal prepared by his mother and sister, Peter was rather stunned to hear his father’s comments on the past few months. Having suffered a knee injury during one of his trips, Ephraim Colton had turned
Summer Song
over to his first mate and made the decision to spend time at home recuperating.
‘‘Why didn’t you tell me about this?’’ Peter questioned as his father limped across the room to pour himself a glass of brandy.
He raised the bottle toward his son, but Peter only shook his head. ‘‘I can’t believe you’d keep this from me. You’re injured, and
Summer Song
is running without you.’’
‘‘My men are good men,’’ his father replied. ‘‘I trust them to do a proper job. They’re running Mr. Paxton’s goods and show true enthusiasm for their duties. Oh, we’ve lost a man here or there to the gold rush—I’d imagine you have as well.’’
Peter nodded, not wishing to remember that he’d lost an even dozen over the past few months. Replacing the men lasted only as long as it took for the next surge of excitement over gold to build and then some of the men again would go. He’d found that the best replacements were those who had already tried their hand at mining for gold and had come back discouraged and broke.
‘‘I always believed you’d discuss such an important issue with me,’’ Peter replied. ‘‘I’ve contacted you with each of my trips into Seattle and you’ve never mentioned the need for me to come home.’’
‘‘Because there was no need,’’ Ephraim assured him. ‘‘I’m on the mend and within a short time I’ll be back on my feet and firmly planted on
Summer Song
. In fact, I’ve invited your mother and sister to journey north with me and see the country for themselves.’’
