[Yukon Quest 01] - Treasures Of The North (26 page)

Jacob was a bigger worry. He worked all day at various jobs but never seemed satisfied. The wharf business had slowed for a bevy of reasons and with it, Jacob was more often than not sent off in search of another line of employment. He had come home with word that Skagway was actually considering a railroad to the north and that he just might get himself a job laying track if they actually went through with the plans. Karen had thought to condemn the idea but had remained silent. The boy was so clearly troubled and miserable about something. She felt it had to do with his father’s leaving and the resentment he felt at being left behind. He resented, too, that the other boys picked on him for it. Most of the boys his own age were laying aside money and provisions to go north, but Jacob was merely trying to survive.

‘‘Oh, God,’’ she whispered, looking into the murky skies, ‘‘I want to help them, but I don’t know what to do. I want to find Father and help him too, but again, I’m at a loss. I want you to direct my steps, to show me where I might best be used, but am I missing your direction? Have I somehow failed to understand your purpose?’’

Down the street she could see some commotion and hear voices raised in revelry. This seemed a good time to slip back inside the tent. She had barely tied the bottom inside flap, however, when she heard voices from just outside the opening.

‘‘Yeah, it’s just women in here. Women with plenty of cash and goods. We can get what we need and take what we want, if you get my meaning,’’ the man announced. There was laughter between what sounded like two, maybe three men. The sound left Karen trembling in fear. She felt frozen in place even as she saw the canvas around the inside flap begin to move.

21

—[ CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE ]—

MYRTLE HAWKINS pulled her coat tight against the brisk November winds. She had cried enough tears to last her a lifetime, and now she was determined that placing her trust in the Lord and seeking His strength would replace her years of greed and self-concerns.

Staring dry-eyed at her husband’s mausoleum, she felt her heart break again for the pain and misery he had suffered. Poor man. He had tried so hard to keep from hurting her with the truth. If only he would have shared his misery and mistakes.

I would have forgiven you, my darling, even as I forgive you
now
.

All that mattered was that Grace remain safe. Martin Paxton had already seized most of their wealth and possessions, at least those he knew of. Myrtle was a smart, resourceful woman, however, and as soon as her world had begun to crumble, she had had the foresight to make provision. Even now her faithful butler was off tending to her business. He would meet her one final time at her hotel, bringing with him all the money he had managed to make by selling her jewelry, silver, and other valuable odds and ends. But it wasn’t much, and it certainly wouldn’t last long in Chicago.

She looked again to the mausoleum. She had come to bid Frederick good-bye, even though she knew he was no longer bound by the sorrows of this earth. It seemed fitting, however, to come to his tomb for one last moment before leaving the city they had once loved.

Myrtle planned to live in Wyoming for a time with her cousin Zarah Williams. It was here that Myrtle hoped to bring Grace when the time was right. In Wyoming, Myrtle hoped they could patch together the pieces of their shattered lives and learn to be happy again. She prayed it might be so.

Turning from her husband’s grave, Myrtle made her way back to the hotel. Her knees ached terribly from the cold, but she refused to give up even the small price of a hired carriage. She would be prudent and frugal, a complete contrast to her old self.

I will make this work for Grace’s sake,
she told herself.
I will
put aside the things of this world and the foolishness of my former
self, and I will be a true daughter of God. I will put mankind
before property and social settings. I will serve the needs of
others instead of myself
.

She chanted this as a mantra, as she had during the days since learning the truth about her husband and Martin Paxton.

‘‘I don’t think you want to know the truth, Mrs. Hawkins,’’
Paxton had told her quite smugly.
‘‘Truth is not always attractive.’’

‘‘No, but it is always liberating,’’
she had replied.

With a shrug, he seemed indifferent.
‘‘Your husband destroyed
my life. He dallied with the heart and soul of a woman
who never meant more to him than a diversion. He made promises
he couldn’t hope to keep and used her in such a way that no
decent man would have her after he’d finished. That woman was
my mother, and your husband put her in her grave—just as I
intend to see him in his.’’

The news had come as a shock. Myrtle would never have imagined her husband as an unfaithful man. Of course, he was often absent from home, but business took him across the lake on many occasions. Weeks would pass with Frederick working away from home, and Myrtle had always endured them with patience and understanding. Her husband was making them rich. He was giving her all that she had desired and an even higher place in society. How could she fault him for that?

‘‘I know you would probably rather dismiss this as a lie,’’
Paxton had continued,
‘‘but I have letters he gave her, words of
love and hope, adoration and commitment. Would you care to
see them?’’

Of course she hadn’t wanted to see them. She wanted no visible evidence of her husband’s adultery. Paxton spoke in detail of events in the life of his mother, including the miscarriage of a child—Frederick Hawkins’ child. It was all so awful and complete in detail that Myrtle had no doubt of the truth. Neither did she have to wonder any longer what fueled the rage in Martin Paxton.

Narrowly avoiding an oncoming carriage, Myrtle’s thoughts were instantly thrust into the present. Inside the carriage, she recognized the face of a one-time friend. The woman, however, was not wont to recognize Myrtle and quickly looked away.

That’s how it had been from the first mention of the Hawkinses’ downfall. No one wanted to be associated with a bankrupt man. Proper society would talk about the family in hushed whispers, but they would have no further dealings with them. Not even so much as to acknowledge them when passing on the street.

This is the life I once thought perfect,
Myrtle realized.
This
is what I aspired to become
. She felt deeply ashamed for her participation in such a world. What a price it had cost her. Her dear husband was dead. Her daughter was a world away. Her servants and friends were scattered like seeds in the wind, and she no longer had a place to call home.

But in her heart, Myrtle held a peace. God had not forsaken her. The trappings of the world had fallen away, but in their place she could see what was real. She could see beyond the trees—the forest she had created for herself.

‘‘ ‘I see men as trees, walking,’ ’’ Myrtle quoted from Mark chapter eight. She remembered the verses clearly because Jesus then touched the man again. The memorized Scripture poured from her mouth. ‘‘ ‘After that he put his hands again upon his eyes, and made him look up: and he was restored, and saw every man clearly.’ ’’ Myrtle looked heavenward and smiled. ‘‘I am restored in you, O Lord, and in you I see every man clearly.’’

Martin Paxton joined the captain of
Summer Song
for dinner. Along with his good friend Ephraim Colton, Martin shared the table with Colton’s wife, Amelia, and their daughter, Miranda.

The brown-haired beauty sat across from him at the small, yet elegantly set table. She smiled warmly, knowing him to be her father’s dear friend, and he easily returned the smile. His attraction to her was something he had not expected; but then, he’d never seen the woman before. She reminded him something of Grace. Her sweetness and nai
vete
were worn openly as though something to be proud of.

She asked simple questions about a world she’d never seen, and he honored her with patient answers that he would otherwise have never wasted time sharing.
Perhaps,
he thought,
when I truly do take a wife, Miranda Colton would be a pleasing
choice
. Of course, that would come much later. Later, after he’d dealt with Grace Hawkins.

Grace was now a personal issue. She had thwarted his plans, defied him to his face, and then without any difficulty whatsoever she had managed to slip from his grasp. He didn’t care about Grace Hawkins in any personal way, but the fact that she was an unobtainable part of his previous plans ate at him like a disease. He would find her and he would break her.

‘‘You haven’t told us what brings you to Seattle and now here to join us on the trip north to Skagway,’’ Amelia Colton was saying.

Martin smiled, thinking of the most recent message he’d received. ‘‘In truth, the trip was most unexpected. My fiance
e was taken north with the gold rush madness. I’m hopefully going to make contact with her near Skagway.’’

‘‘How delightful!’’ Amelia declared.

‘‘I had no idea you were engaged to be married,’’ Ephraim said, pouring Martin another glass of wine. ‘‘Congratulations. Although it’s a pity.’’

‘‘Why do you say that?’’ Amelia asked her husband.

‘‘He might have considered our Miranda, otherwise,’’ Ephraim replied with a wink. Miranda blushed and looked to her plate, while Amelia laughed at the tease.

‘‘She would be a fair prize indeed,’’ Martin offered gallantly. He could see she was clearly embarrassed, and he hoped to win her confidence by changing the subject. He might need Miranda Colton’s allegiance at a later date, and he wanted very much for her to consider him a friend. ‘‘I am quite pleased with the profits of our business arrangements. I had meant to address the issue earlier.’’

Ephraim nodded. ‘‘The news just gets better with each trip north. My son is quite exuberant about his own venture in Dyea. He hopes to continue in business by building a small general store of his own. I hope you do not consider this as too much of a rivalry.’’

‘‘Not at all,’’ Martin replied. ‘‘As is my understanding of the area, there appears to be room for all.’’

‘‘Very true. The harbors are poor in Dyea, but that is quickly resolved by building wharfs and docks. As it stands, a ship may drop anchor in deep water and allow barges to take the goods ashore. It’s more time-consuming, but for those who prefer to begin their journey from Dyea, it truly becomes more economical.’’

‘‘And what of Skagway?’’ Martin asked, already knowing the answer from his own hours of research.

‘‘Skagway is good for shipping. The town is booming, as is Dyea. The passage north from Skagway allows for horses and wagons. At least this is what I’m told. There is some talk of a railroad. I wouldn’t count on that, however. The talk can hardly be trusted as more than rumors and innuendoes. I can’t imagine trying to cut a path through that wilderness.’’

‘‘People said the same of our western frontier,’’ Martin replied, knowing well the plans for a railroad north. He even hoped to put himself at the center of such a venture. ‘‘Look at us now. Railroads crisscross the country and everyone rides the train.’’