At the Mountain's Edge

by Genevieve Graham

  “That’s better,” she said. “Let’s go. It looks like it’s about to snow again.”

  It didn’t take long before her back began to ache, but fortunately, the towering George Dexter did a good job of distracting her with an entertaining monologue about his wife and three small children back in New York. His adoration for his family was obvious, and Liza imagined that leaving them behind must have been one of the most difficult things he’d ever done.

  “I don’t mean to intrude,” Mr. Dexter said after a pause. “But you’ll admit, it’s unusual to see a woman alone on the trail.”

  “The reason I am alone right now is because my—” She stopped, unsure. It was difficult to say the words even to herself, let alone a stranger. But she wouldn’t be able to avoid the subject for much longer. She took a deep breath. “My brother died in the avalanche.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “My parents are waiting for me at the summit. They don’t know yet.” Tears rushed to her eyes, but she couldn’t afford to start crying, here on the middle of the mountain. Besides, there would be time enough for tears when she finally saw her parents. “To be honest,” she said, “that’s one reason why I’m glad to be able to help you. I need to do something to keep my mind off what has happened.”

  “Anything that you need, please ask,” he said.

  She gritted her teeth and pushed on as the sky opened again, dropping heavy flakes onto their heads and backs. To her great relief, George’s back recovered sufficiently after an hour or so, and he reclaimed his bag. When they finally reached the summit after another hour, he set it down with a groan.

  “We made it,” Liza announced, her smile weak but present. “The worst part is officially done.” That’s what Stan had told her. Everything would be downhill from this point on.

  A tired grin split George’s sagging cheeks. “Miss Peterson, I was lost out there. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

  “You would have done the same for me.”

  “Still, I am truly grateful. I promise you, Miss Peterson, should we ever meet again and you are in need, I shall be your knight in shining armour.”

  As Mr. Dexter’s hat moved away, bobbing over the other travellers’ heads, Liza turned to look for Káh. He was waiting near a stack of provisions, Liza’s bags lying on the snow at his side.

  He shook his head, his expression bemused. “You carry man’s bag. You crazy girl.”

  She nodded. “Perhaps.”

  “Good,” he said, surprising her with a contagious smile. “You get rich, crazy girl.”

  She chuckled. “I wish I could hire you again, but from now on my father will be in charge. Besides,” she said, reaching into her pocket and pinching the alarmingly thin wad of money within, “I don’t think I can afford you anymore.”

  “Is okay.”

  He turned and walked back in the direction of the Staircase, and through the falling snow she saw him lower himself to the ground. She knew from experience that the best way to the bottom was to slide straight down the mountain, and when Káh disappeared from view she hoped he enjoyed the ride as much as she had. It certainly had been more fun than the opposite direction.

  Dragging her bags behind her, she shuffled towards the Mountie outpost, eager to locate her parents and wondering how on earth her family was ever going to get to Dawson City at this rate. She imagined her father was working on a plan to sell some of the extraneous supplies in order to hire more packers but he’d have no idea how urgent that was. He didn’t know they no longer had Stan’s strong back to count on. These logistics would be up to her father, not her, and she knew he’d be relieved to take on all those responsibilities again. Still, her mind went to a mental list of everything they’d carried to this place, and she sorted through what might be the smartest items to sell and to keep. Maybe she’d suggest a few things to him when they got to that point if he was still feeling a little weak.

  “Welcome to the Chilkoot Pass,” said the bearded policeman manning the outpost. “I am Sergeant Thompson. May I have your name, please?”

  She was pleased to see that she’d be speaking with a Mountie other than Constable Turner. She told him her name, and he searched for it on his list. After noting that she’d brought all the required items to the summit, he held the page out to her and she reluctantly dug into her dwindling cache of money to pay the tariff she owed. Thank goodness she could count on her parents to buy her a meal when she got to Happy Camp.

  “I can tell you’ve climbed the Chilkoot Trail a number of times, miss. Must feel good to have it all done,” the Sergeant said.

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “This has been a long, horrible trip.”

  “You weren’t affected by the avalanche, were you?”

  Devastated was more like it, she thought, but from the sympathetic look on his face, she knew he didn’t mean to sound callous.

  “I was,” she admitted. “We were at Sheep Camp. My brother,” she said, just loud enough to be heard over the wind. “I . . . Constable Turner tried to dig him out, but it was too late.”

  “Please accept my condolences,” he said softly. “May he rest in peace.”

  “Thank you.”

  “From the contents of your packs,” Thompson said, getting back to business, “I imagine you’re setting up shop rather than mining.”

  “Yes,” she said, thankful for the change of topic. “My father is waiting for these last bags so we can continue the journey and he can open a shop in Dawson City.”

  “Where is your father currently?”

  “Happy Camp. When my brother and I left a few weeks ago, he was in the hospital tent with a fever.” She remembered the last time she’d seen him there, lying helpless under layers of furs. Her mother’s cot had been set up right beside his. “My mother stayed with him—she hasn’t been well either.”

  “We have records of those patients, if you’d like to come inside and check.”

  She nodded, brightening at the thought of sitting in a clean, warm room.

  As soon as he opened the door, she smelled coffee, and that was enough to convince Liza that life was about to take a turn for the better.

  Ben

  FOURTEEN

  A strong, hot cup of coffee was exactly what Ben needed after another restless night. As soon as he’d closed his eyes to sleep, he’d seen his father again and heard the screams, and that meant he had barely slept. If he was going to make it through today, he needed coffee, and he knew he could get one at Jake’s Hotel. Like so many other places at Sheep Camp, Jake’s was little more than a dilapidated cabin marked by a sign someone had painted. The cracks in the log walls were stuffed with moss, and the two windows by the door were made of empty bottles, flat sides out. But they served coffee, and that’s all Ben cared about at that moment.

  The Mounties had stayed at Sheep Camp for four days, digging and helping to get the tough little camp back on its feet. The injured had been tended, the dead taken to Dyea. Any bodies still beneath the snow would have to wait for the spring melt before they could be put to rest properly. This morning Ben and the others were headed back to the summit. He was glad to be leaving the squalor, though he wasn’t looking forward to the final climb. Under the April sun the snow was so much heavier, and the dips and drifts that had existed before the avalanche were now unpredictable trenches of mush.

  After he finished his coffee, he went outside to relish the quiet before the rest of the camp awoke. As he breathed in the crisp morning air, he heard a small sound coming from a pile of lumber someone had salvaged from the disaster. He crouched and peered inside the stack of wood, and he spotted a puppy shivering in the shadow of the lumber.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  Ben took off a mitt and scooped up the little body, which shook in his hand. The little dog couldn’t be more than a few months old, Ben thought.

  “Where’d you come from?”

  He checked her for injuries but found none, though he could feel
every one of her ribs.

  “Let’s find you something to eat.”

  He tucked her inside his coat to warm her, and she settled against his chest almost immediately, as if she recognized the spot by his heart. Once he fed her goat’s milk and scraps, she came to life, prancing around in the snow and following Ben wherever he went. Her happiness was contagious, and Ben was distracted from the dark thoughts that had hung over him like rain clouds these days. By the time he was ready to depart for the summit that afternoon, Ben had decided to bring her with him.

  “Keitl’s not gonna stay small for long,” a Tlingit man told him.

  “What’s ‘keitl’?” Ben asked.

  “It means ‘dog,’ ” the man answered, picking up one of the puppy’s wide, white paws. “She’s gonna grow.”

  “Keitl,” Ben repeated, and that became her name.

  Keitl had energy to spare, and it was obvious to anyone that her size and strength would eventually match those of the mighty huskies that made up most of the sled dog teams. From her markings, Ben was fairly sure one of her parents was not of that breed, but she had a lot of the same characteristics. Her pointed black ears swivelled at every sound, and her ice-blue, almond-shaped eyes sparkled with intelligence, but the black mask worn by so many huskies was incomplete. Instead, her white forehead was dotted by half a dozen spots, like big black freckles. The one feature that Ben figured marked her as unique was a large patch of black in the middle of her broad chest. To him, it looked like the shape of a heart.

  Liza

  FIFTEEN

  The inside of the Mounties’ post was warm and dry, and Sergeant Thompson’s hospitality was more than welcome after Liza had spent so many weeks in tents. She took a bite of toast, then wrapped her hands around the hot cup of coffee while the Sergeant disappeared to fetch the right paperwork. As much as she dreaded telling her parents about Stan, she couldn’t wait to see them.

  But when the Sergeant returned, his face was drawn. Liza felt her stomach twist.

  “Is this him?” the Sergeant asked, setting an open book on the table between them and pointing to a name.

  She nodded, dreading what he might say.

  He sighed. “Miss Peterson, I’m sorry. Your father, he . . . died of pneumonia two weeks ago.”

  She stared at him, too stunned to cry. “He died?” Her thoughts flew to her mother. “What about my mother? Where is she?”

  Thompson tugged at the collar of his coat. “I’m afraid I do not have good news for you on that front, either.”

  “What do you mean? Is she still sick? Has she gotten worse?”

  “She was on the mend, but after your father died, well, she was distraught, as you can imagine.” He exhaled. “Then the news came about the avalanche, and she went downhill. She’s alive, but it doesn’t look good.”

  This couldn’t be happening. “I came as quickly as I could,” she said breathlessly, tears stinging her eyes. “I had to go to Dyea for the funeral, and after that they needed time to clear the trail—”

  “I know, but she was feverish and desperate for news of you and your brother,” he said. “Also, ever since the avalanche, no one who has come through has mentioned any female survivors.”

  That stopped her. “But I—”

  “Your trousers, Miss Peterson,” he reminded her gently.

  Liza grabbed her thighs. “They only saw trousers,” she whispered, hollow with realization. “They thought that we . . . that I . . .”

  “Shall I take you to your mother?” Thompson asked.

  “Yes!” She wiped her eyes. “Please. She has to know I’m still here.”

  Thompson located another Mountie to replace him at the post, then they set out, with Liza walking as fast as she could. When they arrived at the hospital tent, Thompson left, and a nurse led Liza to where her mother lay, covered in heavy furs. There were two cots here before, Liza thought as she approached, grief thick in her chest.

  She drew close enough to catch a glimpse of her mother, then drew back sharply, not recognizing the grey, shrunken features of the face before her. With her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open, her mother almost looked dead. How could she have transformed so much in only two weeks?

  “Mother?” She raised her voice a little. “Mother? It’s me. It’s Liza.”

  When she didn’t react, Liza dipped her fingers in a cup of cooled tea that had been left on a table next to the cot. She pressed the wetness to her mother’s cracked lips, but it took three or four times before she gave any sign of noticing. Then the tip of her tongue appeared, seeking the moisture, and her eyes slowly opened.

  Light as a feather, Liza touched her mother’s hot cheek. “I’m here, Mother.”

  “Liza?” Her voice was weak and her eyes unfocused. “I . . . I thought . . .”

  “They were wrong,” she said. “I’m here.” She reached for the cup and held it to her mother’s lips.

  Her throat moved with effort as she swallowed. “Your father . . .”

  “I know,” Liza said softly. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

  Hope bloomed on her mother’s face. “Where’s Stan?”

  Liza wished desperately that she could lie to her, keep the awful truth to herself at least until her mother was recovered. But she couldn’t. And she couldn’t hide her emotions any longer, either. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “He got caught by the avalanche,” she said. “We both did, but I got out. I dug so hard for him, Mother, but—” She choked on a sob. “I couldn’t get to him. He was too deep.”

  She could hear the grief, guilt, and shame in her own voice, but in the quiet after she spoke she was certain she also heard the faltering of her mother’s heart.

  “I’m sorry,” was all she could say. “Oh, Mother, I’m sorry about so many things. But it’s just you and me now. We have to pull through, don’t we?”

  A lone tear trickled down the side of her mother’s face.

  “Don’t we?” Liza said again.

  The slightest of nods, then her mother closed her eyes, pushing out more tears. “It is I who should be sorry, Liza. We never should have come here. I never should have made my children take this horrible journey. Even your father admitted as much to me at the end.” She drew her hands from beneath the blankets, and Liza saw her fingers were wrapped around her husband’s pocket watch. “Take this with you,” she said, then she slid off her wedding ring. “And this as well.”

  Liza stared at the treasures. “Oh, but Mother. You—”

  “Keep them safe.”

  An eerie sense of calm had settled over her mother’s features. It was just like when Stan had spoken through the snow, telling Liza she could stop digging.

  “No, no, no. Don’t do that. Don’t leave me alone out here,” she pleaded, gripping her mother’s hand. “Please, Mother. You promised we’d stay together. Back in Dyea—you promised. I can’t do this alone.”

  “You can.” Her mother strained for a breath. “You’re strong, just like your father said.” She closed her eyes again. “I love you, Liza.”

  “I love you, Mother,” she whispered, her lips salty with tears, her heart racing with panic. Now more than ever, she hoped Stan had been right about no one ever really being gone.

  She sat by her mother until nightfall, gripping handfuls of the fur covering her mother and watching the feeble rise and fall of her chest. When it was too dark to see, Liza spread her coat on the floor beside the cot, then she curled up and fell asleep, her parents’ cherished items clasped to her chest.

  In the morning Liza rose and gently touched her mother’s cheek, but it was cold. She was gone. And Liza was utterly alone.

  Ben

  SIXTEEN

  At first, Ben couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but as he drew closer to his tent and Keitl started sniffing through the items on the ground, he realized he was right. While he’d been out on rounds, Miller had dumped all of Ben’s possessions—including his cot and blanket, his extra s
hirts and socks, even his hat press—into the melting snow outside their shared tent. This was pushing their already fragile partnership too far. Annoyance flared. Anger coursed through his veins, and he squeezed his fingers into fists, fighting to maintain control. Ever since he had returned from Sheep Camp, it felt to Ben like it took almost nothing to set him off. He needed to be careful. Jaw clenched, he carried his pack into the tent, set it down, then rounded on Miller.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  “You’re leaving, ain’t you?” Miller said. “Might as well get packed up.”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” Ben strode outside and grabbed his cot, brushing off a dusting of snow as he came back into the tent. “I’m not leaving for a week. I’ll sleep inside until then, if you don’t mind.”

  Miller lay back on his cot, arms crossed. “Suit yourself. Don’t matter to me.”

  “Uh-huh.” Ben grabbed more of his ousted belongings and brought them back inside, Keitl trotting at his heels. “I can see that.”

  A week before, Inspector Belcher had read the men a report from Superintendent Steele which said the ice on Lake Lindeman and Lake Bennett was beginning to soften. The Mounties at the summit had been waiting for the update for a while, because it signalled that they were about to get very busy. All winter long, huge crowds of prospectors had been stripping the land around those two lakes so they could build rafts and boats because as soon as the ice was gone, they planned to sail down the Yukon River to Dawson City and the goldfields. The trouble was that the Yukon River was not nearly as accommodating a thoroughfare as these prospectors seemed to think it would be, and based on experience, the Mounties had no illusions about how well these naive travellers might do on the water. In preparation for the thaw, Steele had ordered posts to be set up all along the route, each one flying the Union Jack, but he needed more men to patrol the area. Belcher appointed both Ben and Sergeant Thompson to go, but he’d decided to keep Miller at the summit.