At the Mountain's Edge

by Genevieve Graham

  Ben and Keitl headed out the next morning, reaching Dawson before noon. Before he could lose his nerve, Ben went to Steele’s office and put in his request.

  “I’m surprised to hear this,” Steele said. “But of course I will send you with the highest of recommendations. You’ve been a hard-working and dependable asset up here, Turner. You should be proud.” He tapped his desk, thinking. “We’ll send you to Fort Macleod for now. You’ll leave in a couple of weeks, if that’s convenient.”

  Ben tightened his jaw against any hint of emotion. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Now that that is out of the way, I wonder if you might head to Louse Town,” Steele said. “I may have made an error in judgment with our former Constable Miller. Ever since we released him a few days ago, there have been reports of violence around the ladies.”

  Ben was already up and out of his seat. “I’ll take care of it,” he said.

  “Thompson’s aware too, but he left here in a hurry a while ago, took a couple of Constables with him. Sounds like he’s finally going to bring Stevens in.”

  It was near to noon when Ben reached Louse Town. Keitl had been upset at being left back at the outpost, but a couple of the ladies were nervous around dogs and he didn’t want anyone more upset than she might already be. When he knocked on Daisy’s door, he saw right away that she’d been crying. A fresh bruise bloomed on the side of her neck.

  “Miller?” he asked, clenching his fists.

  “You just missed him.” She hesitated, then said, “Constable Turner, he wanted me to give you a message. He said you underestimated him.”

  A gear shifted within Ben, and clear as day he saw Liza in his mind and remembered those words coming from Miller’s mouth. Dizzy with adrenaline, he stumbled away from Louse Town and raced towards her shop, checking his stride only briefly at the sight of a crowd gathered outside the store. He burst through the door and all he saw was Liza backed against the corner, her chin lifted over the muzzle of Miller’s pistol.

  “Hey! There he is,” Miller announced, madness blazing in his eyes. “Hello, old friend. I’ve been waiting for you. Look what I found: something you actually care about. I’m glad you got here in time to see me blow her pretty little head off.”

  Ben didn’t slow; he didn’t reach for his gun—a bullet was too good for this snake. Ben closed off his mind, pretending he didn’t see Liza’s terror, didn’t see the circle of white pressed against her throat, didn’t see the gun. What he saw was Miller.

  “You might wanna slow down, cowboy,” Miller warned. “Maybe you didn’t notice, I—”

  Ben let his fist fly, driving Miller sideways with so much strength the pistol rattled to the floor. Just as Ben kicked it out of reach, Miller came back at him with a wicked right hook, and Ben staggered to the side. He shook his head, dazed by the unexpected blow, then he set his feet in a fighting stance, rocking in place.

  “Walk away,” Miller growled. “I’m in no mood to play nice.”

  “I ain’t going nowhere.”

  Miller spat blood to the side, his narrowed eyes intent on Ben. “I’ve been waiting a long time to knock you down.”

  Ben knew he should call for backup, should hang back and wait for Miller to run at him, act on defence instead of offense. He should read Miller’s body language, then strike. He should use his head, not just his fists.

  So many shoulds.

  He ploughed into Miller like a freight train, ignoring the fists beating down on his back. When Miller spun sideways, Ben went with him, but he was a fraction too slow and Miller used his momentum to bring Ben to the floor. Miller’s boot slammed into Ben’s side—once, twice—and Ben curled into a ball, gasping for air. Over the pounding of his heartbeat and Liza’s faraway sobs, he heard the same gloating sound that his father had made when Ben had been no more than a scared little boy.

  Miller was laughing.

  He thought he’d won. But Liza was right, Ben was no longer a beaten child. Ignoring the agony knifing through his side, Ben reached out quick as a whip and grabbed Miller’s leg before it could kick him again. He twisted the boot, straining against ribs that were probably broken, and Miller fell with a crash. Ben climbed on top of him, punching for all he was worth.

  “Stop!” A woman’s voice, somewhere out there, miles away. “Ben! Stop!”

  He slugged Miller again, then flipped him face down, smashing Miller’s broken face again and again onto the sweat- and blood-speckled floor.

  “Congratulations, partner,” Ben hissed, blood spraying with his spit. As he snapped the cuffs shut, Miller’s eyes rolled back towards Ben, gleaming white in a mask of red. “You are under arrest. And this time you’ll get a Blue Ticket.”

  A small sound caught Ben’s attention. As the room came into focus, he spotted Liza, curled tightly into herself in the corner, staring at him with terrified eyes. Clutching his side, Ben rose to his knees and staggered towards her.

  “You okay?” His voice was hoarse, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears like a bass drum. “You okay, Liza?”

  But Liza had shrunk away from him, tears streaming down her face.

  “Dammit, Liza!” he yelled. “Are you all right!”

  She nodded dumbly but otherwise didn’t move.

  “Ben?”

  He turned to see Belinda at the doorway, a crowd peering over her at the scene before them. Her eyes were wide, her body tense . . . and he realized she was afraid of him.

  “Help her,” he grunted, then backed away, suddenly aware of how he appeared. What he’d done. What they’d all seen him do.

  Belinda ran to Liza’s side, rocking her in her arms while Liza cried.

  She’s all right, Ben told himself.

  He needed to get out. He hauled Miller to his feet and dragged him through the horrified crowd and back to the Fort. As he shoved the bastard into a cell, the outpost door swung open and Thompson entered, pushing a cuffed Ralph Stevens ahead of him. Stevens gave Ben a sneer as he stepped behind the bars and sat on the floor, and Ben smiled despite his swelling lip. Maybe Stevens was about to get what he deserved. Miller sure was.

  “You’ve looked better,” Thompson said, frowning at Ben’s face.

  Ben closed his eyes, feeling the floor move beneath his boots. He’d have to sit soon and take inventory of what Miller had broken on him. His nose for sure. Rib, too, he thought.

  “Not a great day,” he admitted.

  “What happened?”

  He started to give Thompson a rundown of the events that had led him here, but he didn’t get very far before the door burst open again and Superintendent Steele strode into the office.

  “Constable Turner,” Steele boomed. “Situate yourself within the other cell.”

  “Superintendent?” Ben’s voice was strained. His chest stabbed him every time he breathed.

  “Now.”

  Confused, Ben entered the third cell and watched Steele’s fingers work the lock to seal him in.

  “Constable Miller will be given a Blue Ticket immediately and will be taken into custody as soon as he is outside the Yukon,” Steele informed Ben. “You, Constable Turner, are more fortunate. I am assigning you fourteen days in the stockade before you’re transferred out of here.”

  Ben’s body was still pulsing from the fight, his head filled with noise. Maybe he was hearing the Superintendent wrong. He glanced at Thompson for support, but his friend could only give him a half-hearted shrug. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t warned Ben about fighting in the past.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Stevens and Miller both snickered, and Steele spun towards them. “Mr. Stevens,” he said. “As a member of our fine community, you are a grave disappointment. Your flagrant disregard for both authority and morality has earned you a Blue Ticket from the Yukon. We have no room in this town for low-lifes like you.” He turned on Miller, his lip lifted with disgust. “And you have absolutely nothing to gloat about. You are no better than a pathetic common criminal. An embarrass
ment to the red serge. Miss Peterson has made a full report of tonight’s events, and I shall ensure you are punished to the full extent of the law.”

  Steele turned back to Ben, his keen eyes hard with disappointment. “And you. It was made clear to you in the beginning that brawling was unacceptable among the Mounties. I will not allow our reputation to be tarnished by such irresponsible behaviour. It is only because you have proved yourself to be a commendable member of the Force in the past that I am not relieving you of duty.”

  A wave of relief washed over Ben then. His job was the one thing he had left—he couldn’t lose that.

  Steele put one hand on the bars of Ben’s cell. “I must say that while I understand the reason, I am aggrieved to see you in this position, Constable Turner. Perhaps this place simply wore you down. God knows we’ve seen terrible things here.” He took a deep breath, let it out again. “I hope your time in here will restore your good sense.”

  Mind reeling, Ben sank to the floor and he lowered his face into his swollen hands. All he could see was the broken terror in Liza’s face as she cowered in the corner, the dread he knew so well. He opened his eyes and stared straight ahead, between the bars of his prison.

  I am no better than he was.

  Liza

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Thompson stood outside Liza’s door, hat in his hands. “Ben asked me to bring Keitl to you. He’s hoping you’ll keep her for now.”

  She glanced at Keitl. “Why?”

  “He’s in the stockade. He’ll be in there for two weeks.”

  Liza’s stomach sank. She wasn’t particularly surprised that he was being punished, but it still hurt to think of him in there.

  Thompson shuffled in place. “I think we both know that he went way beyond doing his job. Trouble is, most of the town knows it too. You know how important it is that the Mounties maintain the respect of the community. He could have lost his post over this.” His eyes slid sideways. “It’s not the first time his fists have got him into trouble, if you want to know the truth.”

  Liza hadn’t been able to get the scene out of her mind. Miller had barged in so fast, threatening her, yelling that she was going to pay for what Ben had done, pulling out his gun and pointing it at her, but Ben had been faster. The heat of his anger had been a tangible force she could feel all the way across the store. Once the fight began, she could see Miller never had a chance. Ben had become a wolf, consumed by blood lust, beating on Miller until she couldn’t watch anymore.

  Still, she couldn’t help but ask, “Is he hurt?”

  “Some. Couple of ribs broke, and his face has some healing to do.” He turned to go. “Mostly what he’s feeling ain’t physical, if you know what I mean. He’s disgraced, and that’s about killing him.”

  That sounded like the Ben she knew, she thought, watching Thompson walk away.

  Liza was glad to have Keitl there, but at the same time she wasn’t sure she could bear it. Every time she looked at the dog, she was reminded of Ben. A part of her longed to comfort him; another part wasn’t sure she wanted to see him at all.

  The truth was, she had been terrified by his rage and his brutal, unforgiving strength. It had come as so much of a shock, since she knew what a gentle man he could be. But now she understood: that fury was exactly what Ben had warned her about. That was the violence he’d held in check for so long. She remembered the pale anguish in his expression on that day after the fire when he’d finally told her what kind of man lurked within him. At the time, she hadn’t understood why he was so adamant that he didn’t trust that man around her. Now she did. But she also knew, deep down, that Ben would never hurt her. His anger had been directed at Miller, not her. Ben despised that part of himself, and the only reason he had allowed it to come out was to keep her safe.

  As the end of Ben’s incarceration neared, she couldn’t stay away any longer. When no one came to greet her at the stockade, she wandered in and found his cell by the back wall. He was lying on his side on a cot, a rough grey blanket tossed carelessly over himself.

  She moved closer—she’d never seen him asleep before. He looked so young, so completely at peace, and she longed to touch him, to sweep back the black curls falling over his brow, touch the dark beard that had grown in. One of his hands rested on top of the blanket. He could be so gentle, she thought, remembering the warmth of that hand when it had held hers. But she couldn’t look away from the healing cuts on his knuckles. He could also be very powerful.

  “Ben?” she whispered.

  “Liza?” He sat up, wincing with pain. Couple of ribs broke, Thompson had said.

  “Hi.”

  He combed his fingers through his messy hair as he got to his feet. “How are you?” he asked, approaching the bars.

  She almost took a step back, but after everything, his first concern was her welfare.

  “I’m all right,” she assured him. “And Keitl is fine, though she misses you.”

  “Thanks for keeping her.”

  “I love having her around.” It was so hard to see him like this. “Are you all right?”

  “I will be.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Listen, Liza, there’s something I need to tell you. I’m leaving Dawson. I’m transferring out.”

  Her mind raced to catch up. He was leaving? Because of the fight? Surely Steele wouldn’t—No, she realized then, her stomach curdling. He was leaving Dawson City because of her.

  “I’ve made the Force look bad,” he was saying. “It’ll be better anyway. I’ve had enough of this place.”

  She didn’t think he really meant that. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. It’s time I moved on.”

  She had to say something. If this was the last time they ever spoke, she needed him to know. She stepped a little closer to the bars.

  “Ben, I need to thank you for saving me. From Miller, I mean.”

  “No. I—”

  “I’m not going to lie. You scared me that day, but all this time that I’ve known you, the only time I’ve ever seen you get angry was when my life was threatened.” She searched his eyes, seeking that connection they’d once shared. “You have protected thousands of us.” She paused. “You saved my life, Ben.”

  “I just did my job.”

  “Was that all I was?” she asked softly. “Your job?”

  His fingers curled around the bars until his knuckles whitened, and he held her gaze for what felt like forever. Then he blinked slowly, and she knew the answer before he said it.

  “Yes,” he said, turning from her. “Goodbye, Liza.”

  She couldn’t breathe. Somehow she forced herself to back away, to find the door, to walk outside into a world that felt suddenly empty, but she couldn’t bring herself to utter the word goodbye.

  PART THREE

  FRANK

  Ben

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  1902

  There was no road leading to Ben’s childhood home. No clear trails or paths, no sign that anyone had come this direction in a very long time, but Ben knew the way. His horse waded through the long grass, flicking her tail as insects rose in clouds around them, and Keitl trotted contentedly beside them.

  In the almost three years he’d spent at Fort Macleod, Ben had never been tempted to ride out this way. The posting had been good for him, the long rides out to the Prairie homesteads a healing salve for the hurt and regret of Dawson City. The hardest wound to close was Liza, but he managed to put her out of his mind. Most of the time, anyway. Every once in a while he’d hear the melody of feminine laughter or catch a glimpse of a woman with a profile like Liza’s. When that happened, he’d instinctively move towards her just in case it was Liza. Then he’d remind himself that it couldn’t be. He’d given her up, left her in the Far North.

  He scanned the empty fields, seeking some kind of landmark from years ago. The idea to visit his childhood home had come to him last week after he was notified that he was being transferred again. He knew nothing about where he was headed other than
the place was called Frank—an odd name for a town—and the industry there was coal mining. That was fine with him. He’d had enough gold in his lifetime already. Coal was much more practical—it kept people warm, and they didn’t go crazy over it. But after he heard he was going to Frank, his father’s farm had gotten into his head and stuck there like a burr. If he was going to start a new chapter of his life, he figured he should probably come out here, see if he could maybe let an old one go.

  Eventually Ben spotted the house, sticking out like a wart in the middle of the field. Grass had crept up to the foundation and grown through holes in the walls, and the timbers were splintered with rot. The lone tree in front leaned over the yard, dead as the rest of the place, and the barn, where Ben had sought refuge on so many cold, lonely nights, had almost entirely fallen in on itself.

  His mare dropped her head into the grass as Ben slid off her back and walked up to the front door. The old hinges still partially held, and when he tugged they creaked open. He stepped inside, prepared for . . . well, he really didn’t know. But other than the natural decay and a thick layer of dust, it was like Ben had never left.

  What a bleak place this had been. Of all the times Ben had ached with loneliness, it was here, with his family, that the pain had been the worst. He tried to remember his mother smiling or his dad sober, but their ghosts were as unyielding as they had been in life.

  Ben backed out of the house into the fresh air and sunlight, trying to see the place through different eyes. Had his parents ever been happy here? They must have loved each other at one time. Why else would they have gotten married? If that was true, then what had happened to make it all go so horribly wrong?

  Keitl dropped a dried-out stick at Ben’s feet, then she backed away expectantly. He threw it somewhere in the tall grasses where she couldn’t possibly find it, but he wasn’t surprised when she loped right back with it in her mouth. He threw it again, and as she ran off, a long-forgotten memory came to him. His father had stood in this same spot all those years ago, he recalled, looking over the field just as Ben was now. Ben would have been five, maybe six, but he remembered that his father’s eyes had been a bright blue and lit with promise.