It isn’t over yet.
He thrust his fingers through his hair as if he could pull the words out of his head. They haunted him. No matter how many times he asked God to erase them, there they were, burrowed in like a tic on a dog and sucking off his strength and energy, his enthusiasm for any other task.
He placed his Bible on the pallet where he slept and shoved out of his chair, the only one he owned, bumped his head on the bark ceiling. He couldn’t even stand up straight, except right in the center of the room. He checked the fire in the small steel stove, grabbed his jacket out of the crate that held his clothes and ducked through the canvas door.
The weather didn’t help his mood. His choices were limited to cramped and stuffy, or wet and windy. At least outside he could move without bumping into something. He pulled his collar up to protect his neck from the cold, misty rain, strode across the small rocky ledge, into the surrounding trees and followed his path to the Chilkoot. He could see fires, small as fireflies, flickering in the distance both above and below him in the areas where stampeders normally camped. This section of the trail, except for his small ledge and another larger but unstable ledge clinging to the mountain farther down on the other side, was too steep for camping. He’d chosen the site for that reason. It both protected him from thieves and gave him the privacy he craved. But not tonight. Tonight he wanted company other than his own. The sound of something more than the rustle of the needles on the wind-tossed branches of the firs.
He hunched his shoulders against the wind and stepped out of the protection of the trees, onto the trail, and started the descent to the stampeders camping below. Maybe one of them needed to hear about the Lord. Maybe— He paused as he rounded the sharp curve, listened to the voices carried on the wind, faint but… Someone was in trouble! He crowded the side of the mountain where the trail was less trod and his boots had more grip, and broke into a trot.
“Halt”—the wind stole words—“break”—another gust blew more words away—“neck!”
Ed Parker. Thomas skidded on some loose stone, caught hold of a boulder to gain his balance and ran on. Two figures stood at the outer edge of the trail, heads bent down. Ed and Mack. He slowed, trotted over to them. “Is there a problem? Can I be of help?”
Ed Parker threw him a sour look. “Not unless you know some way to get sense into a drunken thief bent on getting himself killed. Fool thinks he’s a mountain goat.”
Thomas moved closer, spotted the man slipping and sliding down the mountainside from boulder to boulder. “You there! Stop! Stay where you are! That ledge below you is unsafe!”
The man shouted something the wind snatched away, kept jumping and sliding from one boulder to another, slid onto the ledge.
Thomas turned back toward the trail. “I’ll go get a rope. We’re going to need one. Don’t try to go onto that ledge to get him, Ed. It’s nothing but a clump of soil hanging there, held together by roots.”
Mack cupped his hands around his mouth, leaned forward. “Get back from the edge! Get back! It’s not safe!”
“You—”
A scream split the night air. The wind whipped it away, left only silence.
Lord, have mercy. Thomas pivoted back, looked over the edge. The outer rim of the ledge had fallen away, become only a dark smudge of soil scattered among the rocks and boulders beneath it. There was no sign of the man…or of his body.
“Another one. How many lives will this lust for gold claim?” Mack Tanner shoved his hands in his pockets, hunched his shoulders and turned away. “What a waste. And this one died for gold that isn’t even there. Why won’t they believe me that I have no gold buried?” He looked back over the rim of the hill. “The poor fool gave his life for a treasure that no longer exists. I used my gold to buy land. Now there is only the deed to that land and the note I wrote in the box. Even so, it’s led to more harm than it could ever do good. I wish I’d never buried that treasure in the first place!”
“Don’t go taking on blame for that fellow’s death, Mack.” Ed Parker frowned, stepped back from the edge of the cliff. “It was his thieving ways that killed him. If he wasn’t trying to dig up your treasure, it would have been something else.”
“Even so…”
“Ed’s right, Mack.” Thomas laid a hand on Mack’s shoulder. “You can’t take on the blame for something you can’t control. And as for that deed you’ve buried, some day someone will need that land and the blessing of the note, and with your faith and prayers behind it, I’m sure the Lord will have the right person find it.”
Viola stared into the darkness of her bedroom, listening to the normal night sounds. With every creak of a tree branch, every crackle and snap of the fire in the living room, her heart jolted. Sleep was impossible.
She slipped out of bed, shrugged into her robe and pulled on her slippers. Goldie made a soft baby sound, stuck her thumb in her mouth and sucked. She bent down and tucked the blanket more securely around small baby shoulders.
Please take care of her… I know I can trust you.
The knots in her stomach twisted tighter. Whoever Goldie’s father was…whatever his reason for writing those words in the note he had left with her, he was wrong. Leaving his baby in her care had placed her in danger. If Dengler…
She swallowed hard, walked into the living room, crossed to the windows and slipped the curtains out of their ties to cover the windows. She wanted no one peering into her home from the dusky August night. She shivered, moved to the fireplace and added wood to the low-burning fire. Flames licked at the new fuel. Firelight flickered through the darkened room.
She rose, wrapped her arms about herself and glanced at the empty settle, listened to Hattie snoring in her bedroom—felt hollow and frightened and sick and alone. She wanted Thomas. Everything in her was crying out for him. She wanted to look into his eyes and see the caring, hear him chuckle, feel the strength of his hand holding hers, the comfort of his presence. She wanted him. But it could never be. Never. She could bear anything but that Thomas learn what she was.
Or that Hattie and Goldie should be harmed because of her.
She sank to her knees on the hearth, hunched her shoulders and buried her face in her hands.
Chapter Thirteen
Viola hurried up the stone steps to the wide stoop and reached for the doorknob, paused at the sound of hammering from within. Her lungs emptied in a long sigh. Frankie and her sisters were hard at work. She would not be alone in the church. Thank You, Lord. She glanced around, saw no one following her, arranged her features in a mask that hid her fear and opened the door.
“Watch you don’t trip over that pile of lumber on the floor.” The end of the board Frankie Tucker was sawing fell off with a thud. She leaned the saw against the sawhorse leg and looked up. A smile warmed her face. “Hey, Viola. Come to pretty up the windows?”
“I’m going to make a start at it. As soon as I can see.” She blinked her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light after the sunshine of outdoors. “I’m here to measure the windows.” She glanced at Lucy and Margie, busy pounding nails into a board that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. “Will I be in your way?”
Frankie grinned, shook her head. “Nah, if we get close before you’re done, we’ll either work around you or board you up into the wall.” Her sisters laughed. Frankie lifted the board off the sawhorse, swung it around and leaned it against the wall next to where they were working. “Here’s your next board.”
Viola stared at the three sisters, trying hard not to envy them. They laughed and teased each other—and everyone else—with such raucous abandon. They were so carefree while she… The knots that had become a permanent part of her stomach twisted tighter. She stepped around the pile of lumber and headed for the nearest window, took her measurements, then looked around. “I have to measure the bench and the collections table, too. Where are they?”
“We carried them into the sanctuary, out of our way.” Frankie lifted a board from the pile to the sawh
orses, measured and marked it. “They’re bigger than the windows. You need my measure?”
“No, my sewing tape will work fine.” She took a breath, forced a casual tone into her voice. “Have you heard anything about my pistol, Frankie?”
“Danny Whitehorse ordered it from Seattle.” The saw bit into the wood, slid down, chattered back and slid forward again. “Says it should be here in a few days.” Frankie halted her work and looked up, her eyes agleam with interest. “Is someone giving you trouble, Viola?”
“No.” She shook her head, smiled. “I was simply wondering when my shooting lessons would start.”
“Quick as the pistol comes in to Tanner’s, I’ll bring it over and we’ll get started.”
She nodded, looked away. Frankie’s law enforcement yearnings were showing in the suspicious look she was giving her. “I’d best get back to work, I want to be home before Goldie wakes from her nap.” She stepped into the sanctuary, measured the bench and turned to the table.
“Hey, Mack… Preacher. Come to look over our work?”
Frankie’s words stilled her hands. Preacher?
“I’ve come to admire it, that steeple tower is a work of art.”
Thomas. She pressed back against the wall, closed her eyes. There was no way to avoid seeing him; and somehow he always knew when she was upset or…
“It is indeed. But the best part is that it stands high above every other building, so it is the first thing seen by those coming in on the boats from Skaguay. It announces to all arrivals, lawless or Christian, that Treasure Creek is a God-centered town.” Triumph rang in Mack Tanner’s voice. “Once this room is finished and the bell I’ve ordered arrives and is hung, this church will be complete. Except for an ordained pastor in its pulpit. But I’m working on that.”
She opened her eyes, peered around the doorway and saw Mack Tanner smile and clap Thomas on the back. Thomas smiled, lifted both hands, palms out, in a “not me” gesture and glanced her way.
She instinctively ducked back, but there was no hiding now. She grabbed up her tape, wound it around two fingers as she walked back into the entrance. “My work here is done. It’s time I get home to Goldie.” She stopped, smiled. “Hello, Mr. Tanner.” She met Thomas’s gaze and gave a polite nod. “Hello, Thomas.” She looked down at his left arm, covered by his shirt sleeve, and forced a smile. “I see you are able to use your arm now.”
“Yes. In a very limited way. Jacob still cautions about the danger of injuring it again.” His gaze caught hers, held it. “How have you been, Viola?”
“I’m…busy.” She included everyone in a sweeping glance. “If you will all excuse me….” She moved to the door, couldn’t stop herself from stealing one more look at him. “Hattie will be pleased to hear you are continuing to heal well, Thomas.” She turned and hurried outside, rushed to the corner and turned down the road toward her cabin, tears flooding her eyes, blurring her vision.
“Hello, there, Miss Goddard.”
She jolted, looked up. Zeke Jefferson was coming out of her door, a package under his arm. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders.
“Hattie gave me my mending. I left my payment on the table.”
“That’s fine, Mr. Jefferson.” She glanced at the trees crowding the end of her cabin, at the darkness beneath them where a man could easily hide. Two steps and—
“I’m leaving for Dawson City tomorrow. I’ve heard of some new fields opening up, and I’m going to try and find some of that gold everyone is talking about.” He gave her a warm smile. “Wish me luck, Miss Goddard.”
A faint whimpering floated out of the partially open door behind him, then nothing. Hattie must be soothing Goldie back to sleep. She would have to speak with her again about keeping the door locked.
“If I find gold, when I get back I’ll buy you one of the fancy brooches they have in the store at Skaguay.” Zeke Jefferson’s voice had lowered, turned husky. “Or a necklace or bracelet. Or whatever—”
She stiffened at the look in his eyes, gave him a cold look. “You can keep your gold and your jewelry, Mr. Jefferson. And from now on you can take your mending needs elsewhere.”
He flushed. “I meant no insult, Miss Goddard. I only—” He pressed his lips closed, gave a polite nod and stepped off the stoop.
She turned, watched him stalk off up the road, then stepped up onto the stoop, pushed open the door and stepped inside. Home. She released her tension in a long sigh, placed her purse on the table and turned to close and lock the door and…looked into the face of her fear. “Hello, Viola.”
Dengler. Cold washed over her. Everything went black. She blinked, took a breath, came to herself and shoved the door. It didn’t move.
“Now is that any way to treat your boss?” Richard Dengler moved his foot.
The door shoved open.
She staggered back as it hit her, bit back a cry. Dolph followed Dengler inside, wearing the smile that meant he was anticipating the pleasure of inflicting pain on someone.
Bile swirled in her stomach, pushed at her throat. She clenched her hands, dug her fingernails into her palms to fend off the fear, stiffened her quivering legs and squared her shoulders. “You are no longer my boss. Get out of my house.”
Dengler’s hand flashed forward. The crack as it met her cheek sounded like a gunshot. Her head snapped back and to the side. Lights exploded in front of her eyes. She reeled back, planted her feet to stay erect.
“I’m your boss until you’re of no further use to me or my customers, Viola. Now let’s talk about the money you stole from me.”
That cold, soft voice. He never raised his voice. Not even when— Don’t think about it. Don’t show fear! She lifted her chin. “I only took the wages you promised and never paid me. I wouldn’t take a penny of your money. I want nothing from you.”
Dolph fisted his hands, stepped close.
Her heart thudded so hard it shook her, but she refused to cower. It was what he wanted. What he loved.
Dengler raised his hand. “Not yet, Dolph. She has some questions to answer first.” His eyes narrowed. “I want that money, Viola. Where is it?”
She looked into his cold face and knew he wasn’t after the money. He had come to punish and kill her, just as he said he would if she ran away again. Lord, let Hattie be quiet, and Goldie stay asleep. Keep them safe! She braced herself to face the inevitable. If she made him angry, perhaps it would be over with quickly. “I don’t have the money. And I wouldn’t give it to you if I did. I earned every bit of that money. It was mine, not yours.”
His hand flashed again. She rocked back, tasted the blood that spurted from a split on the inside of her cheek. Her knees sagged, she locked them, staved off the blackness. So it was to be a beating first.
“The baby’s gold will do, Viola. Where is it?”
He knew about Goldie! Bile surged. She swallowed it back, raised her hand to her stinging, swelling cheek to gain time. Think! Get them out of here, away from—
“Get the baby, Dolph.”
“No!” She whirled, ran to bar her bedroom door. “Leave the baby alone! I’ll give you the gold. But it’s not here. It’s—” Dolph’s hands clamped on her arms, squeezed as he lifted her and tossed her aside. She slammed against the wall, shook her head, fought for breath and the strength to stand.
“The kid’s not here. The cradle’s empty.”
Where was Goldie? Oh, God, keep her safe! She snagged her lower lip to hold back the sobs.
“Check the other rooms.”
She turned her head, blinked to clear her vision. Hattie’s room was empty. The kitchen. She pressed her palms against the wall and inched toward the kitchen doorway. If she could reach a knife… Dolph caught her by the shoulder, shoved her aside and walked into the kitchen, came out and shook his head.
“No one there.”
The coarse, gruff words brought joy surging through her. Hattie must have heard and taken Goldie away! Thank—
“Well, it seems you
will just have to come back to work for me, Viola.” Dengler stepped close to her and smiled. “It won’t take you long to earn the money to pay me back. You were always a favorite among my customers. And there are so many men clamoring for satisfaction in Skaguay, I haven’t girls enough to answer their nee—”
“She’s not going anywhere with you.”
Thomas! Her heart jolted. She whirled.
Dengler grabbed her arm, looked at Dolph and jerked his thumb toward the partially open front door. “Take care of him.”
Dolph nodded, stepped forward.
“No!” She clutched hold of Dolph’s jacket. “Run, Thom—” The slap slammed her head back against the wall. Bursts of light rushed toward her. Her knees buckled.
“Viola!”
Thomas’s cry scattered the encroaching darkness. She forced her eyes open, pushed against the wall, saw Dolph grab for Thomas. Her heart seized. Her body froze. Thomas dodged, shoved the door into Dolph, sent him reeling back and leaped toward him. The henchman let out a snarl, lowered his head and charged.
Her limbs twitched back to life. She shoved off the wall.
Dengler grabbed her hair, jerked her back. Tears smarted her eyes. She blinked them away to see Thomas smashed up against the wall, Dolph’s fisted hand driving toward him. Thomas ducked, drove a fist into Dolph’s stomach. Dolph doubled over and Thomas drove his knee up under his chin. Dolph slumped forward, slid into a sprawl on the floor. Thomas flopped him onto his back, yanked the gun from his belt.
Dengler’s arm clamped around her neck, pulled her back against him. “Drop the gun and get out, or I’ll kill you!” He lifted the gun in his other hand into her line of sight. “Tell him, Viola.” His arm pressed tighter against her throat, then loosened a bit.
Gold Rush Baby (Alaskan Brides) Page 12