“Has Leah never married?” he questioned, realizing too late that he’d spoken aloud.
“No.”
Jacob offered nothing more, and Jayce knew better than to press it further. Instead, he picked up his coffee mug and stood. “You want any coffee?”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks.”
Jayce nodded, then spied the ball of paper and mug Leah had left behind. Hoping to be helpful, he grabbed up both and headed to the kitchen. He set both mugs on the counter and started to throw the paper into the stove. He paused, thinking of how Leah had been so absorbed in her writing. Perhaps some of the letter can be salvaged, he thought, knowing good paper could sometimes be scarce.
Jayce unfolded the balled-up letter and spread it against the hard surface of the wooden table. The words, for the most part, were blurred. The latter half of the letter, in fact, ran together so badly that it was impossible to really figure out the wording. He began to crumple the paper again until his own name leapt from the page.
. . . Jayce Kincaid has no effect on me . . .
The very presence of his name drove Jayce to better understand. A section of words were mangled in black ink and coffee. It made them impossible to read.
Every time . . . find him . . .
More blurring and run-together swirls before the letter ended with a somewhat promising statement.
I . . . feelings . . . him.
He struggled to make reason of the cryptic message. Did she care or didn’t she? Was she telling Karen that she had feelings for him or that she didn’t? And why should it matter to him? He held the letter up against the lamp, hoping against all odds that it would reveal the answer to his questions. It didn’t.
Jayce glanced up, fearing Leah might walk in at any moment and realize what he’d done. He quickly crumpled the paper and stuffed it into his pocket. Leaning back, he tried to reason what it all might mean.
“You’re a mystery to me, Leah Barringer,” he whispered, “but I intend to solve this before I leave.” He smiled and raised his mug. “In fact, I believe I’ll rather enjoy unraveling this intrigue.”
Chapter Five
SEATTLE
Helaina looked at the documents in her hand. “Isn’t there a ship heading to Nome sooner?”
“Lady, you’re lucky to be on that one. Travel north ain’t as easy as it is here,” a grumpy old man said from behind his ticket counter. “Ice is breakin’ up, but the storms are still a powerful threat. Especially in the Bering. It ain’t the kind of place for a lady—if you get my meanin’.”
Helaina paid him little attention. She was used to men taking one look at her refined appearance and concluding that she was insignificant or too delicate to handle real-world affairs. “Where might I purchase some supplies?”
The man looked her over with a smirk. “I wondered if you were going to try to make it wearing those fancy city doodads. You’ll freeze your backside off, pardon my sayin’ so, in that.” He sneered down his long nose at the sight of her best traveling suit.
“Well, it’s a good thing you aren’t responsible for me, then, isn’t it?” She gave him a look that froze him in place. “Good day.”
She left without getting directions to any reputable mercantile. She knew it would be best to move away from the dock area, but at the same time she felt confident the best supplies for the rugged Alaskan travel would be found here.
Walking to the north, Helaina couldn’t set aside her disappointment upon learning that the expedition team had headed to Vancouver the week before. Further investigation informed her that they were already on their way to Nome and would await her there. There was no other word or suggestion as to how she was supposed to get to Nome; rather she was left to figure out everything, including needed supplies, on her own.
Well, it wasn’t the first time she’d had only herself to rely upon. The smell of fish and rotting guts mingled with salty air and wet wood assailed her nose, but Helaina refused to react. Her mother had always taught her that a lady of quality might have to endure many hardships. The key to doing it well, however, was in controlling one’s reaction. A true lady would keep everyone guessing. And that was something Helaina felt she did quite well.
Helaina spied a sign in a waterfront store that read, There’s still gold to be found in Alaska! The advertisement further suggested that everything a prospector needed for the frozen north could be purchased inside. She decided the claim merited her attention and pushed open the door.
“Hello, ma’am,” a young sales clerk said, seeming quite surprised to see a woman. “Can . . . can I help”—his voice cracked and raised an octave before settling back down—“help you? You . . . lost?”
Helaina surmised the teenager was unused to dealing with women. “I’m not lost. I need to purchase goods for a trip I’m making to Nome in the Alaska Territory.”
“You’re going north?” He seemed rather stunned.
“Yes. I’m to meet my employer in Nome. I’m a part of an Arctic exploration team. I’ll need to have gear that will endure the harsh elements.”
The boy studied her a moment, then shrugged. “Most of our inventory is for men. I don’t know if we have anything . . . small . . . well, that is . . .”
“Oh, go in the back, Daniel, and let me help this poor woman,” a man said as he came from somewhere at the back of the store. The teen blushed furiously and made his exit without another word.
“Ma’am, I’m J. T. Brown. This is my store.” He extended a beefy fist in greeting.
Helaina liked his no-nonsense approach. “I’m Mrs. Beecham. I need to purchase whatever might be beneficial to me for a trip to Nome and beyond.”
“I heard you tellin’ the boy you were bound for the Arctic. It’s not an easy place. I’ve been there myself. Went whaling once.” He surveyed her stature. “I think I have some boy’s sizes that will fit you, but once you’re in Nome, you really should try to get some native-made clothes. See if you can’t locate a few of the Eskimo women and get them to sell you some fur pants and such.”
“I’ll make a note of it. Thank you.”
He seemed relieved that Helaina wasn’t offended. But why should she be? He was only offering wisdom borne out of experience. He wasn’t being condescending in his attitude, nor was he smirking at her as though she had no idea what she was talking about.
The man left quickly and reappeared with a stack of clothes in his arms. He placed these on the counter and went back out of the room once again. Helaina began to search the store for other items that she thought might be useful. She located a sturdy pair of boots that looked to be about the right size.
“You’ll want to waterproof them,” the man said, holding up a tin. “This stuff seems to work the best.”
“Then be sure to include it with my other things,” she said, leaving the boots on the counter with the clothes. “I’m also going to need a sturdy bag for packing. Do you have something canvas or leather?”
“I do indeed. I have a pack the sailors like to use. I think it will suit you well.” He went to the back shelves of the store and pulled down a large black bag. “This one seems to hold a great deal and endure travel. It’s guaranteed to be waterproof—they’ve put some sort of rubber coating on it. Don’t know much else about it.”
Helaina nodded her approval upon inspection. “It seems quite sound.”
The man nodded. “I’d like to suggest something else. It may sound quite forward, but I’ve heard good things from the men who’ve gone north, regarding these.” He went behind the counter and pulled out yet another piece of clothing.
“What is it?” Helaina asked.
It was the only time she’d seen Mr. Brown the least bit embarrassed. “Well, ma’am, they are . . .” He looked around quickly and lowered his voice, “Men’s theatrical tights.”
Helaina wanted to laugh at his whispered words. “Are they woolen?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been told when worn under your other clothing, they help to keep
the chill off better than anything else.”
“I can’t imagine men being too comfortable wearing these,” Helaina said with a hint of amusement.
“They get plenty comfortable when faced with the alternative: freezing. Some even wear more than one pair at a time.”
Helaina nodded. “I’ll take them. In fact, give me three pair.”
Mr. Brown appeared quite pleased with himself. They discussed other items, finally settling the selections and the bill, with J. T. Brown’s promise to deliver everything to Helaina’s hotel by nightfall.
With this arrangement made, Helaina requested Brown secure her a cab. He was only too happy to help her. After all, she’d made it worth his while to have opened shop that day.
Once she was back at the hotel, Helaina pulled off her kid gloves and tossed them aside. Her hat quickly followed suit. She felt a little hungry but decided against lunch. There was simply too much to plan. While contemplating her schedule for capturing Jayce , she disrobed and settled into a dressing gown before spreading out all of her information. The sketch of was front and center. She found it helpful to study a man’s photograph while in pursuit of him. She wished there had been photos of Jayce , but even the English hadn’t been of help in this area.
She looked hard at the man’s face. The eyes were penetrating—almost hypnotic. This was the face of a killer, she told herself.
Helaina tried hard to imagine what thoughts the man might have—what reasoning he might use to justify his deeds. She’d always wondered what thoughts and planning had gone into the events that had taken the lives of her own loved ones, for surely the men involved had contemplated their actions at length. Kidnapping was not something one did without a plan for victims. Even if that plan was death. She couldn’t fathom the mind that perceived such deeds as acceptable.
She thought of her husband and how he might have reacted to the attack. Robert Beecham was no man’s fool. Wealth had not been handed to him—he had made every cent by using his brain and brawn. Likewise, her father had also made his fortune. There were no silver spoons to be placed in the mouths of the Curtis children. She and Stanley, and another sibling who had died shortly after birth, had all been born into poverty. But her father refused to be kept down. He created a profitable freighting business, then sold it and bought into an equally beneficial manufacturing company. Little by little, step by step, he had increased their fortunes and had pulled the family from their impoverished circumstances.
Robert had come upon the scene as her father began to seek out investment advice. Robert’s ability with figures and reading the market had merited him much success. He had made his first hundred thousand before he’d turned twenty-five and was quite confident in his future. It was one of the things that had attracted Helaina to him.
Of late, however, Robert’s image had begun to fade from her memory, and his voice no longer haunted her dreams. She knew she’d not only survived widowhood, but had actually overcome it. Loneliness was no longer an issue. She had systematically driven this, as well as sorrow, away with her focus on righting the wrongs of the world. It was her only defense against drowning in miseries that would never bring her husband or parents back to life.
It was times like this that she could only wonder what the future might hold. She was only twenty-six, soon to be twentyseven in August. She knew she never wanted to marry again. She didn’t want children; the world was much too dangerous to contemplate bringing babies into its threat. But what eluded her was what she did want to do with her life. There were entire volumes of things she didn’t want, but coming to an understanding of what was important to have, to hold . . . now, that was difficult.
She looked again at . He seemed a perfectly normal man, but she knew he wasn’t. His past told a completely different story. He’d killed at least two men—Pinkerton agents who were working to retrieve articles had stolen—and he’d nearly killed Stanley. She shook her head.
What caused you to become the man you are? Why did you choose to live a life of evil instead of good?
Stanley had once told her that he was convinced men did not choose such things for themselves, rather those things occurred at random. Rather like a blanket thrown down from the mythological gods of Olympus. It fell on whom it would fall, and from that point on their life would be forever changed.
Mrs. Hayworth had a different view, one taken from her Christian beliefs. “God has a specific plan for each person’s life,” the woman had said. “Some men will give in to the devil’s prompting. God weeps for them.”
God weeps for them, maybe, but He certainly didn’t stop them.
When Robert died, Helaina had been bitter at the platitudes murmured and spoken by all those around her. Even his eulogy spoke of God’s infinite wisdom and plan for each man’s soul. Helaina had decided then and there that, if this, in fact, was the manner and heart of God, she wanted no part of Him. He was cruel to her way of thinking. A robber of loved ones—unfairly stealing away the very heart of those He called children.
Helaina had rejected any thought of God or His comfort after that. Not that she’d really given Him much thought prior to Robert’s and her parents’ deaths; but now it seemed it was to be war between her and God. A war that she could only win by altering God’s plan—by capturing the evil that He allowed to run free in her world.
“I’ll find you, Jayce . Like all the others before you. I’ll hunt you down and see you pay for the things you’ve done.” She held the sketch with trembling hands. “The law will win out and justice will be done. You will hang for the sins you’ve committed because whether God will punish you or not—we will. We lowly, puny humans will see it done.”
————
Leah felt a deep sense of gratitude when she awoke to silence. The storm had ceased, and the sound of children’s laughter could be heard from outside. The missionary school year was completed for the season and the native children, along with the missionaries’ kids, were enjoying their freedom.
Throwing back her covers, Leah stretched and yawned. The aroma of coffee and griddlecakes filled the air. She’d overslept, but apparently Jacob had gotten along well enough without her. It was only then that the memory of Jayce came back to haunt her.
She grabbed her robe and held it close against her body. Jayce was here. He was staying with them. She found the idea as ludicrous now as when it had first been presented. Jacob had set Jayce up with a pallet in the storeroom. He had teased their visitor that it would be colder than the rest of the house, but that if Jayce was going to explore the Arctic, he might as well get used to it. Then with this arrangement made, Jacob told Leah there was no reason for her to stay with Ayoona.
No reason?
Leah couldn’t believe her brother’s ignorance. How could he not see or understand the effect Jayce had on her? And how could Jayce be so completely blind to it? As far as either of them were concerned, ten years was long enough to have put the past to rest. Leah sighed. It should have been.
You should just tell him how you feel. The words came from somewhere deep inside. How can I tell him? It will only serve to embarrass and further hurt me. But in truth, Leah was already in so much discomfort that talking to Jayce, a man who planned to leave in a matter of days, couldn’t be much more painful.
Leah argued with herself for several minutes, but then her gaze fell to the calendar. Jacob had encouraged her to keep meticulous track of the days. With no sun in the winter and no night in the summer, it was easy to lose track of the days unless she kept a ledger.
The day Leah had been dreading had arrived—a taunting reminder of all she had failed to accomplish. May 18, 1915. It was her thirtieth birthday.
Leah stared at the calendar as if to will it to declare a different day entirely. But the truth would win out. She was thirty years old, unmarried, childless. Worse still, there were no prospects of changing any of it.
She went about her duties in a daze. She had dreaded turning thirty. Somehow she could
tell herself she wasn’t quite so hopeless or destitute while still in her twenties. But this mile marker seemed to make all the difference.
“Well, good morning,” Jacob said as Leah came into the kitchen. “I let you sleep on account of your birthday.”
Leah looked around frantically. “You didn’t tell Jayce it was my birthday, did you?”
Jacob looked at her oddly. “Of course. Why?”
She sighed. “No reason. Where is he?”
Jacob dished up several flapjacks. “Out with the dogs. Here. I fixed you breakfast and I have a surprise.” He pulled a small bottle from his coat pocket. “It’s maple syrup. I know you love it and haven’t had it for a while.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “That was really kind of you. Thank you.”
“I have another gift for you as well.” He left the room and returned with a brown paper-wrapped bundle. “I thought you might enjoy this.”
Inside was a new traveling case. “It’s wonderful,” Leah said, not completely understanding the purpose. “But am I going somewhere?”
Jacob nodded and poured her a mug of coffee. “You and I have talked several times about you going to see Karen and Adrik. I think this year would be perfect.”
“And what will you do while I’m gone?”
Jacob looked away. Leah could see he was uneasy with her question, and then it dawned on her that he meant to take Jayce up on the exploration offer. “You’re going to go with Jayce, aren’t you?”
“I think so. I’ve been praying on it, and . . . well . . . I think it might be exactly what God wants for me.” His expression was one of hopefulness—rather like a little boy asking if he might keep a stray dog.
“I see,” Leah said, wanting to be supportive. “I suppose to be honest, I was considering it myself—at least going to see the family. I know Karen would love it.”
Summer of the Midnight Sun Page 5