Clarice trembled. "All I ever wanted was what was best for you, for my loved ones."
Alex looked away, his eyes clouding with moisture. "I told you that I loved her, but there's no way I can make you understand that is there? You don't know what love is."
"I love my Edward; I love you. Why do you think I did it?"
"No. You don't love your husband. To love someone you have to be willing to sacrifice. Gabrielle gave up her entire life to come to Virginia and be with me. You wouldn't sacrifice your cherry tart at supper time for Edward," he sneered.
"How dare you!"
"No!" he shouted. "How dare you!" Spinning around, he made three long strides to the door.
"Where are you going?" Clarice ran after him.
"To the train station."
"The train's gone, left this morning."
Alex ran a hand through his thick hair. "Then I've got to get a schedule; I've got to see when the next westbound train is leaving."
"You can't go after her," she argued, following him as he took the front marble steps two at a time.
"Oh, you're wrong. I can. And I'm taking Alexis with me. . . ."
"No!" Clarice protested. "You can't!"
Alex leaped onto the horse he'd left tied to the hitching post. "Oh, I can," he said with a nod. "And I'm going to." Sinking his heels into the bay's side he rode off in a fury of dust, ignoring his sister's pleas.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Gabrielle stepped off the stagecoach at the Union Pacific Railway Station in Seattle, clutching her wool coat and lowering her head against the driving rain. She had taken the stagecoach from Portland because she had been told it would be faster but had ended up losing two days while a wheel was being repaired. Cursing beneath her breath, she started down the street, her satchel held tightly in her hand. Turning onto King's Street, she lifted her head in search of the St. Lucy, the hotel she and Alex had stayed in. Spotting its wooden sign blowing in the wind another block up, she hurried, shivering with cold.
Pushing open the front door, she stepped into the entryway and went up to the front desk.
"Can I help you?" The same rotund woman with the painted face who had been there before glared suspiciously.
Gabrielle slipped her red felt hat off her head, letting her damp hair fall to her shoulders. "Yes. I'd like a room." She ignored the water that ran off her boots and puddled on the thick piled carpet.
The woman's round face lit up, her thick makeup cracking at the crinkles near her eyes. "Mrs. Alexander! How nice to see you. We have the same room you stayed in before available. Mr. Alexander will be joining you, won't he?"
"No," Gabrielle responded tiredly. "Different room, a small one. He won't be joining me."
The woman lifted a painted eyebrow but said nothing, turning to reach for a key. "How long'll you be staying with us?"
"Not long. Can you find out when the next steamer is headed north? I'll take a sloop if I have to. I'll pay you." Her voice was dull and lifeless.
"Sure, sugar pie, I can take care of it for you. Won't be hard. I hear they're settin' up another line, gonna run all winter. Things been busy here since we got word of the strike on the Forty Mile River."
Gabrielle glanced up in interest. "At Forty Mile, you say? How big a strike?"
"I don't know, but big from what I hear. I'm sure someone down closer to the docks can tell you. We been busy as bees since the word came down. Men settin' out and it's near winter. Do anything for a bit of glittering rock, won't they?" The woman slid a key across the desk and opened the large register book. "Let's see here." She licked the point of her pencil. "That'll be Mrs. Alexander in room twelve."
"No." Gabrielle shook her head. "Just Gabrielle LeBeau."
She looked up but said nothing, then leaned to scribble in the book. "All set." She smiled at Gabrielle.
Gabrielle scooped the key off the desk and turned to go. "Send up a bath, will you?"
"I will indeed," the woman called after Gabrielle as she went up the steps.
Letting herself into the hotel room, Gabrielle dropped her satchel on a chair and flopped down on the bed. The room was much smaller than the one she and Alex had used. This one had only one room with no parlor, and the bed was only big enough for one person. Still, it was elaborately decorated with rosewood furniture and deep-brown velvet drapes.
Sighing, Gabrielle let her eyes drift shut. In the weeks that had passed since she had left Alex in Virginia, she had moved like someone caught in a dreamworld. She ate, she slept, she watched the passing scenery as the train moved west, but she felt nothing. At the end of the line in San Franciso, she had taken a stagecoach into Rosenburg, Oregon, then a train into Portland. By that point, she was beyond thought or feeling; she was numb. But she refused to allow herself to dwell over the past. Her life had been adequate before Alex had come along; she had been happy, and she was determined to make herself happy again. She felt no bitterness. She was thankful for the year she had had with him, and she would keep those memories locked safe in her heart forever.
But now it was time to get on with her life. She needed to get supplies and building materials and be on her way before Taylor found her. She figured she would buy some dogs and take them north with her. She'd move her supplies as far upriver as she could, and then she'd leave them until spring and mush on up to Jack's to spend the winter. In the spring she'd hire a steamer and ship the supplies upstream. She didn't know where she would build a new trading post; she'd worry about that when the time came.
A knock came at the hotel room door, and Gabrielle sat up. "Come on in," she called.
A maid came in with towels, followed by a boy carrying a copper tub. Gabrielle stood and waited while the tub was filled with steaming water, and then she dismissed them both. Stripping off her damp clothes she threw them over a chair to dry and sank into the velvety softness of the water. With a sigh, she leaned back, closing her eyes.
As she rested her weary body in the hot tub, she couldn't help wondering what Alex was doing right now. She was caught between hoping he missed her dearly and hoping he didn't miss her at all. She knew it would be easier for him if he was relieved she was gone, if what Clarice had said about him being too much of a gentleman to tell her was true. But in her own selfishness, a part of her hoped he still loved her. Whatever was the case, she was certain that in time he would meet someone else, someone who would make him a proper wife and a decent mother to Alexis.
In the days that followed Gabrielle's arrival in Seattle, she kept herself busy bargaining for supplies and looking for some sled dogs to purchase. In the evenings she went down to the Full Moon Saloon where her father had been killed and talked with his old cronies. From them she learned that there had indeed been a large strike at Forty Mile. It was made by a man named Howard Franklin off one of the tributaries of the river and was expected to be bigger than the Stewart River sandbars of 75-76. The news of the strike excited Gabrielle. With the rush of gold seekers that would follow, if she could build a trading post in a strategic place, she'd be able to make a good living.
Four days after Gabrielle had arrived in Seattle, a knock came at the door of her hotel. Surprised because she had called for neither food nor a bath, she went cautiously to the locked door. "Yes, who is it?" Her eyes went to the new Colt pistol she'd purchased, which she kept on the stand next to her bed.
"It's your mother, Gabrielle. Let me in, love. I'm near soaked from the rain." She rapped on the door again.
"Alice?"
"I said it was me, now open the door!"
Against her better judgment, Gabrielle opened the door a crack. "What do you want?"
Alice sighed, running a hand over her elegant coiffure dampened by the downpour outside. "Must we go through this again?" She pushed her way through the door and past Gabrielle. "I heard you were back in town; I came to comfort you."
Gabrielle's eyebrows furrowed. "How did you know?"
Alice smiled sweetly, removing her cloak. "I
told you before, dear, nothing happens in this town these days that your mother doesn't know about." She sat down on the only chair in the room, removing her long leather gloves. "I have to tell you I told you so, but your man didn't keep you very long, did he?" Her eyes went to Gabrielle's hand. "No wedding ring, either."
Gabrielle crossed her arms over her chest. "We were married; it just didn't work out." Her own voice sounded strange in her ears. She wondered how she could discuss this so calmly with her mother.
"I'm sure you were, dear," she said patronizingly. "Now tell your mother, what are you going to do with yourself?" She lifted a finely sculpted eyebrow taking in her daughter's shabby appearance. "Now that you have no money—"
Gabrielle gave a snort, turning away. "I have money."
Her mother straightened in the chair with interest. "But what happened to your fine clothes, the gowns, the hats?"
Gabrielle stuffed her hands in the pockets of her men's woolen pants, scuffing at the rug with her booted foot. "I dress this way because I want to."
"You mean he didn't take your share of the gold?"
"No, I brought—" She cut herself off, turning to scrutinize her mother. She had realized a long time ago that Alice LeBeau was not a woman to be trusted. "Why do you ask?"
"Just concerned for your welfare." Alice shrugged delicately as she got to her feet.
"Why do I find that hard to believe?" Gabrielle asked sarcastically.
Her mother pulled on her cape. "You're so suspicious, child. As bad as your father was. Now, I have a surprise for you." She worked at the buttons of the expensive overcoat. "I want you to come to my home; I've someone I want you to meet."
"Your home?"
Alice smiled, lifting her chin. "I'm a kept woman these days, and I want you to meet him."
"I . . . I don't think so." She shook her head. "I'll be leaving any day now. I've got a lot to do."
"Nonsense. If you're abandoning your poor old mother again to go off into that wilderness, the least you can do is come and see how well taken care of I am."
Gabrielle followed her mother to the door. "I really don't want to."
"Please." Her mother turned to her, a hint of sincerity in her voice. "I'm a respectable lady now."
"He's going to marry you?"
"Why would I want to marry anyone? I made that mistake once; I'll not do it again." She pushed a folded piece of paper into her daughter's hand. "Here's the address. Tonight, six o'clock? I have two maids and a cook."
All sensible reason told Gabrielle she shouldn't go. Her mother had given her nothing but pain her entire life. So why did she care if she was happy, if she had a man keeping her off the street? Because she was still her mother. . . . "All right. Tonight. But I can't stay long. I've found a man who has some sled dogs to sell. I'll be going out to see them in the morning."
Alice lifted her hood. "Tonight, then."
Gabrielle closed the door, leaning against it. Looking at the piece of paper in her hand, she crumpled it with a sigh.
Dressed in a new sweater and flannel pants, Gabrielle arrived at the address her mother had given her, with a bottle of good Scotch whiskey tucked beneath her arm. It was just after six-thirty, and the rain had finally ceased. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the knocker on the paneled door and let it fall. "Stay with me on this one, Papa," she whispered. "I'm going to need you."
The elegant door swung open. "Gabrielle! I was so afraid you weren't coming. You're late." Alice was dressed in a deep-blue serge gown with large sapphires dangling from each ear. Her face was painted subtly, her honey-colored hair pulled back in a nestle of curls at her neck.
"I couldn't make up my mind whether or not I was coming." She looked up at her mother standing in the light that streamed from the door. "Are you going to let me in?"
Alice laughed, stepping back. "Come in . . . come in. Excuse my poor manners."
Gabrielle moved past her mother and into the entryway of the newly built house. "Quite the little homemaker, aren't we?" She glanced up at the crystal chandelier hanging overhead.
Alice leaned to brush her lips past her daughter's cheek. "I thought you'd be happy for me."
"Oh, I am. I just can't help wondering what it is you want from me."
Alice shook her head. "Always the cynic, weren't you, daughter. Your coat?" She motioned to a maid standing discreetly in the doorway of the parlor to the right of the entryway. "Carla, take it will you?"
Gabrielle shrugged off her heavy men's coat, handing it to the maid. She held out the whiskey to her mother. "For you. I know how much you always liked good liquor."
Alice let out a sigh, accepting the bottle. "And I thought you were going to come and be nice." Her gaze went to the label, noting the year the whiskey was bottled.
She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. "You're right," she conceded. "I was. I'm sorry."
"There, there, no harm done. It's no news to me that you've never been particularly fond of your mother." She lowered her voice to be certain it didn't carry to the maid's ears. "But I'd like to put the past behind us."
"I'm leaving, Alice, in a few days. I doubt I'll be coming back." Gabrielle heard her mother's peacemaking words, but she didn't believe them, not for a minute. Alice LeBeau never offered anything, not even her friendship, without expecting something in return.
"Are you sure you want to go?" Alice folded her hands demurely. "The territory will surely be an unsafe place for a woman with all of those men heading north now. You heard of the strike at Forty Mile—"
"I heard."
"But you still intend to go?" Alice led Gabrielle into the parlor.
"I'm still going. It's my home; it's where I belong. Now where's this gentleman of yours? He must be a good man to offer you so much." She gestured with a hand at the room, tastefully furnished.
"Oh, Malcolm is. Please, sit." Alice indicated a red-colored velvet settee. "He's been too good to me."
"Funny. I don't remember you mentioning a Malcolm in August." Gabrielle stroked the velvet with her palm, remembering the settee she and Alex had sat side by side on in his own parlor only a few weeks ago. Her throat tightened at the thought of him, and she looked away, hoping her mother wouldn't notice the tears that pooled in the corners of her eyes.
"Actually, I haven't known him long. I only saw him a few times, just after you left, in fact, and then he asked me to move into his new house here with him." She settled herself on a chair across from Gabrielle. "You see, he's had an injury. He lost a leg to frostbite up north last winter, somewhere on the Tanana, I think."
Gabrielle shook her head. "My, I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Frostbite's a painful thing. Alex—" She cut herself off, looking away. Why couldn't she get him out of her mind. Would he haunt her forever? "How did it happen?" she asked quietly.
"Actually, I don't know. It was such a painful experience that Malcolm prefers not to speak of it, and I haven't pressed him. He's been so good to me that I saw no need." She got to her feet. "Well, shall we go in to supper. Malcolm said he would be down in a moment."
Gabrielle got up and followed her mother down several steps into an exquisitely furnished dining room. A fire burned in an ornate stove in the corner of the room, adding to the atmosphere of warm opulence. "Pretty," she murmured, turning to study a portrait on the wall.
"I'm glad you like it" came a deep male voice from behind.
A shiver of primal fear ran down Gabrielle's spine, and for a moment she was too paralyzed to move. She knew that voice! There was no mistaking it. Slowly she turned to face Lucas Taylor.
"Gabrielle, I want you to meet Malcolm Rosenwood." Alice swept up the two steps that led out of the sunken dining room, catching Lucas's arm.
Gabrielle forced back her rising terror as her eyes met his. What game was he playing? Speechless, all she could manage to do was nod her head in his direction. Taylor was dressed impeccably in a black, single-breasted sack suit, a pristine white collar peaking from beneath the coat.
Gabrielle stifled the urge to confront him here and now. No, she thought. Better to hold my cards and see what he's holding first. "Good to meet you, too," she heard herself say.
Taylor's dark eyes glistened. "Your mother was afraid you wouldn't come." He put out his hand to take hers and pressed it to his lips.
Gabrielle's eyes met his, and he smiled, showing even white teeth. She couldn't believe how dashingly handsome he was in his fine coat and gilt cane. How could her mother not know this was the same man that had killed Rouge LeBeau only the year before? "I . . . I've been very busy," Gabrielle stuttered. "I'm headed north as soon as my supplies come in."
"Are you now?" He released her hand and started for the upholstered chair at the head of the long dining table. "Not many women in that territory. It's a dangerous place; I've been there, you know."
Gabrielle's eyes narrowed. "Have you, now?" Gaining control of her emotions, she slid into the chair just to his left. Alice was seated to his right. "Where?"
He smiled charmingly. "On the Tanana. Do you know it?"
Alice eyed Malcolm, then her daughter. She wasn't quite sure what was going on between the two of them, but she didn't care for it. She didn't like the sparkle of interest in her lover's eyes. She had worked too hard for this position as his mistress to lose it to this little chit, daughter or not. "Now Malcolm, you know very well Gabrielle knows the Tanana. I told you it was the unfortunate place where she was born." Alice nodded to the maid that stood in the doorway, and the woman dropped a curtsy, disappearing into the kitchen.
Gabrielle reached for her glass of wine, sipping it. She couldn't believe she was sitting here speaking so civilly to the man who had murdered her father, to the man who had attempted to murder her! She leaned back as the maid served the first course of the meal, a steaming bowl of creamed soup.
Gabrielle listened quietly as Alice and Lucas chatted pleasantly. Gabrielle nodded occasionally, speaking when necessary, but concentrating on watching Lucas and trying to figure out what he was up to. Tonight, Lucas Taylor appeared to be the perfect gentleman. Who would know that a few months ago he had kidnapped her and threatened to sell her to a brothel? He spoke quietly, was attentive to Alice and was a charming conversationalist. But Gabrielle saw through his façade; she saw him watching her from the corner of his eyes.
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