At the Mountain's Edge

by Genevieve Graham

  “I’m just not . . . I don’t want to talk about that.” He reached partway across the table and opened his hand in clear invitation, sorry he couldn’t give her what she wanted. When she laid her soft fingers on his, a rush of warmth filled him. It suddenly felt so important that he say the right things, that he earn this fragile trust she’d just placed in his hand.

  “My past doesn’t matter, Liza. I’m making sure that my life right now is a good one.” Now he’d come so close to the edge that his boots were hanging over, he took a deep breath and kept on going. “I’m sorry you feel you are better off on your own, but the truth is, Liza, you can’t keep me away.”

  Her eyes were serious, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Don’t you understand? I’m trying to warn you, Ben.”

  He let himself smile. “Liza, you don’t scare me. Heck, I’m a Mountie. I live for danger.”

  Liza

  THIRTY-ONE

  Liza scratched her nails over the frozen windowpane, daunted. The blizzard had started two hours ago and had quickly covered the dirt streets of Dawson in white, but it showed no signs of letting up. At this rate, the snow would be over their knees by the afternoon.

  “Think they’ll still come?” she asked Belinda as her friend blustered past, making sure all the chairs were set in position, all the cushions fluffed.

  “Of course, dear. It’s Christmas Eve. Everyone wants to be together.”

  Liza turned to face the room, decorated in red and gold, and hoped the weather wouldn’t keep anyone away. This would be her first Christmas without her family. Her last real Christmas with them felt like it had happened a thousand years ago. She couldn’t remember the weather or the gifts, but she remembered the warm, happy comfort of sitting by the fireplace with her family at home playing board games and building puzzles. When she’d told Belinda about their tradition, a spark had lit in Belinda’s eyes.

  “This town could use a little quiet comfort,” she’d said. “I’m sure many people are missing their families back home.”

  As Liza watched Belinda, she was reminded of Stan when he got an idea in his head.

  “We can bring tables and chairs to the lobby, then set out all the puzzles and board games we can find. I’ll hire some musicians, and we’ll make a day of it.” Belinda beamed. “This is exactly the excuse I’ve been looking for to test out my latest purchase.”

  “Which is?” Liza had asked.

  “Hot chocolate.”

  Now the smell of hot chocolate and baked goods permeated the Fairview lobby, and Belinda was right, as usual. Within the hour, the place was crowded with guests both rich and poor. As a string quartet played quietly in the corner and people chatted amiably with each other, Belinda gave her busboys little notes to drop on each table which read: In the Christmas spirit, buy someone less fortunate a hot chocolate.

  Around one o’clock, Ben and Thompson arrived, looking Christmasy in their bright red coats dusted with snow. Liza felt a flutter in her chest when Ben met her gaze and gave her a slow, lopsided smile. Ever since the break-in, he’d come to see her more and more, and they spent enough time together that even Belinda had raised a teasing eyebrow.

  “I saw you both at the masquerade last night,” Liza said, walking towards them. “Your costumes were not very good.”

  “You know us.” Ben brushed the snow off his coat. “We love these uniforms so much we practically never take them off.” He reached into his pack. “I have a letter for you, Liza.”

  “Who on earth would be writing to me?” she wondered, studying the envelope, then she looked up. “I hope you haven’t come just to deliver the mail.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “No, it’s just that I have a little Christmas gift for you.”

  “A gift?” he said. “Why, I can’t remember if I’ve ever been given a gift for Christmas.”

  He said it nonchalantly, but Liza was taken aback. He didn’t often speak of his childhood, but when he said things like that she couldn’t help but wonder about his past. Maybe one day he’d trust her enough to tell her about it. Maybe he’d even let her help him for a change.

  “That’s not true,” Thompson intervened. “We gave all the Constables new buttons last year.”

  “Ah, yes,” Ben replied, pleased. “I stand corrected.”

  “He’ll stay,” Thompson told her. “He’s got nothing else to do today, and I’m wondering if he’s smart enough to complete a puzzle. Let me know how he does with that, would you?”

  Laughing, Liza assured the Sergeant she would, then she led Ben to a small table she’d reserved for them. As soon as they sat, a waiter appeared with a tray.

  “Hot chocolate?” Liza asked Ben.

  “Sure, I’ll try it.”

  She nodded at the waiter, who put out two steaming cups and left them with a plate of cookies. She chuckled, watching Ben’s obvious attempt at restraint. No dessert was safe around Constable Ben Turner.

  “Don’t wait for me,” she said. “I’m going to open this letter first, but you should help yourself. Oh, and be careful—”

  He gasped and put the cup back down.

  “It’s very hot,” she said, a little too late. She held up the plate. “Maybe a cookie will help.”

  As he munched away, she turned to the letter. She didn’t recognize the return address on the envelope or the handwriting. She slipped the card out and her eyes went to the signature at the bottom.

  “Oh, Ben! It’s from Olivia, George’s widow.” She read a little, giving him bits and pieces as she went. “She’s apologizing for taking so long, as if she didn’t have enough to worry about. She also—”

  Her fingers shook a little as she pulled out another, thicker piece of paper: a photograph of a group of Tlingit packers, George, and a girl Liza barely recognized as herself. The Liza in the photo was small and filthy, wearing a man’s bulky sweater and oversized trousers. The picture had been taken a little over seven months ago, and yet it felt like another lifetime. A different life, a different existence, a different place altogether from where she was now.

  “Ben, look.” She handed the photo to him. “George had another traveller take this when we were on the trail.”

  He studied the photo, a small smile playing at his lips. “You both look happy.”

  “We were, I suppose,” she said softly. She’d forgotten how tall George was. Oh, but he was such a gentle giant, she thought, remembering his kind features and even kinder words. “He used to quote Yeats to me,” she told Ben. “ ‘ “There are no strangers here,” dear Miss Peterson,’ he’d say. ‘ “Only friends you haven’t yet met.” ’ ”

  “I suppose he was right,” Ben said, looking at her thoughtfully.

  Liza set the photograph aside, then reached beneath her chair.

  “This is for you,” she said, placing a tissue paper–wrapped package in Ben’s hand.

  His eyes lit up. “Really?”

  For someone who hadn’t received a real Christmas gift before, he took his time unwrapping the present. He looked up at her, confused.

  “Thank you?” he said, more of a question.

  She reached over, laughing at his puzzled reaction. “They’re special mitts I had made for you.” She put one on and held her hand up for him to see. “Everyone knows that mittens are warmer than gloves, but they’re also harder to work in. Well, this fixes that. There’s a spot for your thumb, another one for your first finger, and the other three fit in the last section. Try it!”

  She’d first seen the mitts when a Newfoundland fisherman came into the shop wearing them. It was the perfect thing for Ben and she’d asked the local tailor to make them with the strongest, softest black leather he could find and line them with rabbit fur and wool. They had been an extravagance, but she wanted Ben to have the best.

  It took Ben a moment to slide his hand in and figure out where everything went, but once he did, he tested it by spreading his fingers.

  “These are wonder
ful. Thank you,” he said, and she knew he meant it this time. He twisted his mouth to the side, looking sheepish. “I have something for you, too.”

  “You do?” Ben was generous with his time, but she knew Mounties barely made any money at all. “Ben, you shouldn’t have.”

  He ignored her, reaching into his pack and handing her a small package wrapped in brown paper. She pulled the twine loose, then carefully opened the paper, revealing a single brass button. On its face was the NWMP crest with a raised image of a bison, a crown, and the word Canada. On its back had been soldered a neat brass pin. She traced the design with her finger.

  “They call it a ‘sweetheart pin,’ ” Ben said shyly. “I know it’s not much, but it’s all I—”

  “It’s perfect, Ben,” she said. “It’s the loveliest gift anyone has ever given me.”

  The genuine relief in his expression set her whole body tingling with an unfamiliar energy, and she glanced down so as not to let him see. Her gaze landed on the photo of her with George, and her old friend’s words from Happy Camp came back to her in that moment. The ones about how he believed they were all there for a purpose. Her eyes rose to meet his again, and it struck her that maybe her purpose was Ben.

  Ben

  THIRTY-TWO

  Ben strode down Front Street, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face and the smiles of the folks he greeted along the way. It was cold enough that the river remained frozen solid, but springtime was on its way, and change was in the air. New merchants had sprung up along the boardwalk, well-furnished, classy little hotels had replaced the tiny cabins from the winter before, and where tree stumps had once stuck out of the road, now the street was straight and clear. The city was becoming a home to so many.

  Being around Liza this winter had made the cold season enjoyable for once. He could still bring back that sweet smile she’d given him after she’d pinned his button to her scarf, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen her without it after that day.

  Even Thompson’s mood had improved, though that was due to the major progress he’d been making on his gun-smuggling case over the past couple of months, not a blossoming romance. After investigating a lot of dead ends, he’d linked the gun Thomas Wiedemann had used to blow his head off outside the Red Feather to a middleman in the operation, and they had confiscated two dozen firearms. The discovery had prompted a few people to talk, and now all lines of enquiry focused solely on Ralph Stevens. Ben couldn’t wait until Thompson had the last pieces of evidence to arrest the man.

  From the street Ben heard tinkling piano notes coming from the Monte Carlo, and he turned towards the saloon. He nodded to Henry the bartender as he walked in and asked for a cup of coffee. When it arrived, Ben noted that Henry’s fingernails were longer than usual, and that was saying something, because they were usually pretty impressive to begin with. Henry had explained to Ben a long time ago that he used his nails to scoop gold dust off the bar as the night went on, running them through his heavily greased hair every once in a while to keep his stash safe. After everyone left, he panned his own hair and nails for gold.

  The Mounties were well aware of the ingenious methods of making money going on in Dawson City, but most of the time they looked the other way. They understood the difference between keeping the place clean and keeping the parts well oiled.

  Diamond Tooth Gertie slid up to him, flashed her smile. “Good evening, Constable Handsome.”

  “Hi there, Gertie.”

  “One of these days,” she said, “you’re going to buy me a whisky and we’ll sit down and enjoy it together. How would that be?”

  Ben laughed. “Sounds like fun. How’s everything going tonight?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t already know.” She clicked her tongue.

  He knew that look. “What is it?”

  She nodded towards a table where a few men were being entertained by dance hall girls. “You’ll wanna watch that one,” she told Ben.

  “Which one?”

  “The one who ain’t wearing his bright red coat at the moment.”

  Ben squinted through the smoke. “Constable Miller.”

  “He’s been sneaking around, offering ‘protection’ services to the girls. I think some of them have bought in, but only because they’re scared of him,” she said. “He hit Daisy the other night, you know.”

  Ben bristled. “No, I didn’t know that.” Twice he’d seen Miller coming out of a woman’s hut, but he’d let it go. He never would have if he’d known there was violence. “Is she okay?”

  “Sure she is. Tough little flower. But he’s using his uniform to keep her quiet.”

  Miller was chatting with one of the girls, his lips close to her ear, and from what Ben could see, their conversation was nothing like the one he and Gertie were having. Miller’s hands were nowhere near where they should be.

  “Thanks, Gertie,” he said, sliding off his bar stool. “You have a good night.”

  “You too.”

  He could tell she was watching him as he strode towards Miller and pried the whisky glass from his partner’s fingers.

  “What are you doing?” Miller asked.

  “Come with me,” Ben replied, taking his arm. “Now.”

  Miller objected, but he reluctantly gave in, and Ben half-dragged him into the street, out of earshot.

  “What are you thinking?” Ben demanded.

  “I’m thinking it’s Friday night and I ain’t on duty. So it’s none of your business.”

  “Sure is my business. Folks still watch us when we’re off duty.”

  “Hey, hey, it’s fine.” In a blink, Miller’s scowl had melted into a wheedling smile. “Can I borrow some money, partner? I’ll pay you back. It’s just that I owe a guy.”

  Ben had been right. Sounded like Miller had borrowed money from the wrong kind of lender.

  “How deep are you in?” Ben asked. “Is this why you’re offering ‘protection’ services?”

  Miller started to turn away, but Ben yanked him back and held his lapels so they stood face to face.

  “I wanna talk to you about another thing. I hear you hit Daisy.”

  “She’s a prostitute,” Miller replied, condescension thick in his tone. “Nothing wrong with hitting someone if she’s already breaking the law.”

  Ben’s jaw dropped. “What in God’s name is happening to you? You know the law. You also know common decency—or you used to.”

  Miller shoved Ben away. “I don’t need to hear any of this from you, Turner. I’ve been a good policeman for a long time, but I was living in hell while you were living the easy life out here,” he said. “I’ve done all they said to do and I have frozen every piece of me without complaining.”

  “You always complained.”

  Miller continued on as if he hadn’t heard. “I’m back in the land of the living now, and I intend to live a little. I have a few irons in the fire, so to speak, and no one’s gonna get in my way. Especially not you.”

  “Irons in the fire?”

  “Picking up the odd job here and there, you know. And sure, the protection service helps.”

  “What kind of odd jobs?”

  “You don’t need to know about that.” He leered at Ben. “Not unless you intend to arrest me.”

  Which was impossible, because Ben had nothing to charge him with. No evidence—really, no crime. But there was something in Miller’s belligerence that screamed trouble.

  “You’re gonna get called out if you’re doing something stupid.”

  Miller leaned towards him. “Who’s gonna do that? You gonna report me, partner?”

  Miller was a whole different man from the bellyacher Ben had left at the Chilkoot Pass. This was a man with no emotion in his eyes, as if something had died in him. Something in the Yukon had killed it.

  Ben didn’t budge. “You hit Daisy,” he said. “So yeah, I am.”

  Miller’s nostrils flared. “I ain’t the only one, you know. Lots of gambling and drinking going
on with the other men.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the one everyone’s talking about.”

  “Oh, really? And you with that pretty little shopgirl? Everyone sees you. She can’t be as innocent as she looks.”

  That’s when Ben punched him. He’d trained so hard to let insults and insinuations roll off him, but this was different. This was about Liza.

  Miller lay on his back in the crusty lumps of snow, glaring up at Ben and wiping blood from his nose. “Watch yourself, Turner.”

  “I’d advise you to do the same.” Ben’s blood sang through his veins. It had been so long since he’d let his temper loose, and the sensation was energizing. “You want to try that again?”

  Miller sat up and sniffed, but he didn’t stand.

  “Wise move,” Ben said.

  “Watch your back, Turner. You don’t wanna underestimate me.”

  Ben turned away as if Miller’s threat meant nothing, but he wasn’t a fool. As he walked to Fort Herchmer to report his partner, he felt the heat of Miller’s glare burning into his back. With every step, the man’s warning rang in Ben’s head. Like every other Mountie, Miller carried a holstered pistol at his hip. What were the chances he’d use it?

  Liza

  THIRTY-THREE

  Cape Nome, Alaska. That was the place Liza kept hearing about. As she checked and ordered stock, dusted, changed the window display, tended customers, and did whatever else needed doing, she was always listening to her customers. She hadn’t forgotten what Belinda had said about the gold rush, and even though she was doing well with the shop—well enough that she’d recently moved into her own small house—she’d learned that things could change in an instant, and they already were. She’d seen more than a few wagons load up and leave town already. Permanently.

  “I guess we’ll know for sure when the steamships come in June,” her customer was saying as Liza reached behind her for a canister of tobacco. “But from what the papers say, Nome’s the next big one.”

  “Are you going?” she asked, setting it in front of him.