Silent Stranger

by Darty, Peggy;

  ❧

  Joe Spencer had decided to wait another day before heading into the hills. He had slept comfortably on the cot and was pleased to learn that Mattie could be trusted. She had agreed to lock his supplies in her bedroom closet, freeing him up to do more shopping today and stop off at Doc Wright’s clinic one last time.

  His first mission was to check out the dogs. He didn’t have to have a sled and dogs to carry supplies, but it would be good if he could find what he needed at the right price. He headed for the place he had been told about the day before. It was easy to follow the sound of dogs barking as he sloshed through the mud where the boardwalk ended, making his way to the log house where a white banner in the front yard advertised Malamutes For Sale.

  A tall bearded man in denim trousers and a red flannel shirt stood in the front yard, surveying the sky.

  “Hello,” Joe called. “I wanted to see your dogs.”

  “How many?” the man asked, looking him over.

  Joe hesitated, uncertain. “I don’t know yet. Also, do you have a sled for sale?”

  “Matter of fact, I do.” The man motioned him around the side of the house to the backyard. Enclosed in a log fence were four brown and white malamutes, along with four other dogs of mixed breed. All appeared to be in good health.

  “Man just sold me his sled and the eight dogs there. The dogs are well trained. They can pull a load for eight hours.”

  Joe frowned. “That’s a long time.”

  “And a heavy load, too,” the man said, ignoring the sympathy in Joe’s voice.

  Joe studied the dogs, pleased to see that their coats were lush, well tended, their eyes bright. He had always had a soft spot in his heart for dogs.

  “How much for the sled and dogs?” He turned back to the man.

  “Two thousand.”

  Joe stared at him. “That’s ridiculous.”

  The man shrugged. “I’ll get that much, perhaps more as winter sets in.”

  Joe sighed, tallying up his money. Even though he had a comfortable nest egg, he was not going to submit to such an exorbitant price. He cast another glance toward the dogs, regretting that he was unable to purchase them.

  “How much does it take to feed those dogs?” he asked curiously.

  “Man said he gave them lots of fish and maybe a thousand pounds of bacon over a year’s time.”

  Joe whistled. “That’s better than I’ll be eating,” he said wryly. “Can’t afford them,” he said and turned to leave. Then another thought occurred to him. “What about one dog? Do you have just one good malamute for sale?”

  This took the man by surprise. “One dog can’t pull much.”

  “No, but he could be a good companion.”

  “I’ve got a good male over here.” He led Joe around to another enclosure where a brown and white malamute with soft brown eyes won Joe’s heart at first sight. Joe leaned down to rub the top of his brown head and study the white muzzle of fur around his eyes and mouth.

  “He’s twenty-six inches at the shoulders, weighs seventy-four pounds,” Christensen announced.

  Joe checked out the white underside of the dog’s body and the sturdy white legs. He appeared to be a strong, healthy dog, and he was a friendly one, licking at Joe’s hand. Joe’s eyes skimmed over the brown back to the white tail curled over his back. He looked back at the almond-shaped eyes, filled with soul, and couldn’t resist. “I’ll take him,” he said, without asking the price.

  An hour later, with his new malamute leading the way, Joe gripped the leash and headed toward Doc’s clinic.

  ❧

  Ruth listened to her father’s lecture on vitamin C to Lucky Herndon, a local miner who was a frequent patient. The nickname Lucky had been a cruel joke on someone’s part for the thin, bedraggled man seemed always in a streak of bad luck. Today he had come in complaining of aching muscles and showing bruises on his skin. Lucky was dressed as usual in patched denims, faded gray shirt, and dirt-encrusted boots. Doc had checked him over and assessed the bruises on his skin. Then he had looked in his mouth and shaken his head at Lucky’s bleeding gums.

  “You’ve got scurvy, Lucky,” Doc said with a sigh.

  “Scurvy?” Lucky croaked. Nervously, he removed his battered gray hat and raked through his thin hair that overlapped his collar. His long face seemed to lengthen as the jaw sagged. “That’s bad news, ain’t it?”

  “Could be worse. How long you been without fruit?” Doc asked, closing his black bag.

  Lucky shook his head. “I can’t remember.”

  “Well, let me tell you something, Lucky. Don’t even think about going back to that claim until you go to the store and get some decent food in your system. Ruth, do we have any oranges left?”

  Ruth nodded and went upstairs to the pantry. Oranges were selling for one dollar each, and she doubted the poor man could afford them. There were half a dozen on their shelf, so she removed half of them and headed back downstairs. When she returned, her father was giving him a bottle of pills.

  Just then the front door opened, and she turned to see Joe Spencer, who had just stepped into the hall. Her heart jumped at the sight of him, and she wondered what she was going to do about these crazy feelings she was experiencing each time she saw the man.

  “Hello.” He smiled at her.

  “Hello.” She smiled back.

  “Want to see my new dog?” he asked her.

  “Sure,” she said then laughed.

  It was a surprising question, but she followed him out to the front porch, where a handsome malamute sat, surveying the surroundings. She knelt, stroking his thick fur. “Hi there,” she said then glanced up at Joe. “What’s his name?”

  “I’m going to call him Kenai,” he answered.

  She lifted a brow. “Kenai?”

  He shrugged then propped a broad shoulder against the door jamb. “After a beautiful peninsula.”

  “That’s a nice name,” she said as she continued to stroke the dog’s fur, yet her eyes had never left Joe’s face.

  Ruth held his gaze for a few more seconds. He was wearing fresh clothes—another pair of denim trousers, a brown wool shirt, and matching hat. He was clean-shaven, unlike so many she had seen.

  The door behind him opened and the miner stumbled out, holding a sack.

  “Now take your medicine and eat those oranges,” Doc warned. “Come back and see me next week.”

  “Thanks, Doc.” His faded blue eyes swept Doc then Ruth. “Thanks, ma’am.”

  “You’re welcome.” Ruth stood, brushing her hands.

  “Nice dog,” Doc said, glancing down. “How’s your back, Spencer?”

  “Better. A decent bed helped,” Joe added as he and Ruth followed Doc back inside.

  Ruth noticed as they entered the hall that the scent of the potato stew wafted pleasantly over the downstairs. She wanted to invite Joe to lunch, but she felt it was her father’s place to do that.

  “Father, I’m going to check on lunch. It will be ready soon,” she added.

  He nodded then looked at Joe. “Want to stay and join us? I’d like to hear more about San Francisco.”

  Joe glanced at Ruth as she lifted her skirts to climb the stairs. “Yes, sir, I’d be pleased to stay if it’s not an imposition.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder. “No, it isn’t.”

  ❧

  Later, as the three of them sat around the kitchen table, Ruth tried to conceal the joy she felt over having Joe with them. She could hardly keep her eyes from his handsome face, and he seemed to be looking her way a lot.

  She lifted the platter of corn bread and offered him a slice.

  “Thank you,” he said. Again, his eyes lingered on her face for a fraction of a second.

  “So,” her father spoke up, “we were going to talk about San Francisco. I haven’t been there in years. What’s it like now?”

  “The people are depressed over the money situation, the same way you mentioned folks are in Seattle. When new
s of the gold strike here reached the city, it caused a major upheaval. Everyone quit their jobs and tried to book passage on the first boat out.”

  He paused for a sip of coffee.

  “I finally got passage on an old coal tanker and had the pleasure of breathing coal dust all the way to Skagway. Seemed like where there was space for one man, four were crammed in. In fact, there were about eight hundred people on that old clunker.”

  “And you got off in Skagway?”

  “I did, along with a lot of other people waiting for another ship going farther north. If your clinic was located there, you would have been in business night and day,” Joe added then searched his mind for another topic to quickly change the subject. “What do you treat most people for here, Dr. Wright?”

  Doc dipped in his stew again. “Scurvy. I imagine it will soon be frostbite when the harsh winter sets in.” He looked up at Joe. “If you don’t have a hot water bottle, that would be a good investment. Mrs. Mulrooney sells them at her roadhouse on the edge of town. She was smart to think of bringing hot water bottles to sell.” He winked at his daughter. “Ruth, why didn’t you think of that?”

  Ruth got up to refill the coffee cups. “You didn’t give me a lot of time to think of hot water bottles,” she replied lightly.

  ❧

  Joe watched Ruth and her father, admiring the way they got along together. He had been without family for a very long time, and he found himself drawn to the doctor and his daughter—particularly the daughter—in a way that could prove dangerous for him. He concentrated on his food, trying to goad himself into leaving as soon as it would be polite to do so.

  “Father, what’s wrong?” Ruth had asked.

  He looked up. Doc’s face had turned gray, and for a moment, he said nothing.

  “Do you have some food caught in your throat?” she asked, hurrying to his side.

  Joe stood, staring down at the man, wondering what he could do. But then Doc shook his head and took a deep breath. “Just a slight case of indigestion, I think.” He pushed his plate back and looked at his daughter. “You feed me too well.”

  Joe watched him carefully, noticing that the color had not returned to his face, although his smile and the pleasant hazel eyes seemed to convince his daughter. Narrowing his eyes, Joe studied him for another moment. He was a doctor; he, of all people, should know if something were wrong, and he claimed to have indigestion. Something nagged at Joe, however; something he could not pinpoint. Then he remembered. He had seen that gray color last year on the face of an older gentleman before he toppled onto the saloon table and died.

  “I didn’t prepare a dessert,” she said, a note of apology in her voice.

  Joe shook his head. “I don’t care for sweets, but thank you. As a matter of fact, I really should get on with my errands, although I feel it’s impolite to eat and leave.”

  “It’s quite all right,” she said. Then she turned to Joe and startled him senseless with her next statement. “We attend midweek prayer services tonight. Would you like to join us?”

  Joe’s mind raced. How could he pretend he was leaving town tonight when he had admitted a few minutes ago that he was departing at first light tomorrow? And at the moment, he couldn’t even think of an excuse not to join them. He glanced quickly at her father. The man’s color still was not good, and Joe found himself filled with concern for another individual for the first time in a year.

  “We would like that,” her father added seriously.

  Joe touched the soft napkin to his lips, still searching his mind for an excuse and still finding none. “Where are the services held?” he asked.

  “Up on the north end of town,” Doc replied, “next to the tent that advertises blankets for sale. Services are held in one of the few clean white tents in Dawson. At the present, it’s the only church we have, such as it is, but by next year there will be a building on that spot.”

  Joe nodded, feeling the pull of Ruth’s eyes. He could see that she wanted him to join them, and for some reason he didn’t understand, he decided to go.

  “All right, thank you for inviting me.” He hesitated then decided to be truthful. “I used to be a Christian—”

  “Used to be?” Ruth tilted her head and gazed at him with questioning eyes.

  He shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I still am. What I meant was, I was raised to attend church, but I haven’t gone in. . . quite a while. If my mother were alive, she would be grateful to you for inviting me.” His voice softened at the mention of his mother. Nothing in his life had been the same since she died.

  He pushed back his chair. “I have some errands to run this afternoon. What time do services start?”

  “We start early,” Doc replied. “Six this evening. The preacher works days at the docks, so he’s usually too tired to be long-winded.”

  Joe smiled, coming to his feet. He looked at Ruth again. “Thank you for a nice meal.” He looked back at Doc, relieved to see that the color was returning to his face. He looked normal again. Maybe it was only indigestion, after all. “And thank you for treating my back. Oh,” he reached into his pocket, “I forgot to pay you today.”

  Doc shook his head. “You paid yesterday. This was just a follow-up visit. And the pleasure of your company has been payment enough. See you tonight.”

  Joe hesitated. “Very well. Thanks for inviting me,” he added, glancing at Ruth.

  “By the way,” Ruth said, going to the cabinet, “I have something for Kenai.” She handed him a small bowl of leftovers. “You can keep the bowl,” she added with a smile.

  He stared into the oval face, mesmerized by the way her deep auburn hair made her skin look as soft as cream, and the eyes were a hazel color that was quite unusual. Joe wished he had the time to get to know her, to give over to the feelings that were nudging at his heart. But he didn’t. He took the bowl from her and smiled. “Kenai will be grateful,” he said.

  They said their good-byes and Joe hurried down the stairs to the hall, bowl in hand. He thought about what nice people the Wrights were and how he wished he had met them a year ago. If he had, his life might have been drastically different. But he had not. And he had to live with the man he had become.

  three

  Ruth and her father had chosen a seat on the middle bench, with her father seated next to the aisle. The crowd was sparse tonight, despite the arrival of the boat, which should have added to the small congregation. In contrast, the saloons were livelier than usual, having absorbed many of the boat’s passengers.

  Inside the tent that served as their church, the minister, Grant Sprayberry, stood at the front of the benches, Bible in hand, ready to conduct the service. He led the songs, as well. There were no musical instruments, so it was fortunate for everyone that he had a strong voice and an ear for music. Since there were no hymnals, he took requests for favorite hymns. First, he asked if anyone was in need of special prayer. Ruth vaguely heard the requests, lowered her head during prayer time, and tried to join in mentally.

  Still, this was difficult, because Ruth was beginning to feel anxious. She and her father had waited outside the tent for Joe until time for the service, but he had not appeared. Doc had made an excuse for him, but Ruth was embarrassed and humiliated by his failure to show up. How could he eat their meal, accept their kindness, then be so rude? Was it possible that something had come up? She remembered his hesitation when she first invited him, and now she suspected that he had not wanted to come but was reluctant to refuse. So he had taken the easy way out.

  “What’s our song for tonight?” Pastor Sprayberry asked.

  “How about ‘Rock of Ages’?” someone in the rear of the church called out.

  “‘Rock of Ages’ it is.” Pastor Sprayberry smiled. He was a tall, middle-aged man with a wife and two daughters. When the pastor smiled, his entire face lit up, and he was smiling now.

  Ruth tried to recall the verses to the hymn, since most hymns were sung by memory.

  Rock of ages, cleft
for me, Let me hide myself in thee. . .

  “Excuse me.”

  She turned to see Joe Spencer standing in the aisle beside her father.

  Doc nodded and Joe stepped in front of him, attempting to slip quietly past Ruth to fill the empty space on the other side of her.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he whispered.

  She merely smiled and began to sing the hymn. All voices were lifted joyfully in praise, and while Joe did not open his mouth to sing, he seemed to be standing very still beside her.

  After three verses of the hymn, the pastor opened his Bible and began to read from Psalms. He had chosen a favorite Psalm—the Twenty-third—and most people seemed to know it by heart, as they read along with him.

  Ruth was holding her mother’s Bible, and she shared the open page with Joe. He did not take a corner of the Bible; he merely followed the verses with his eyes. Then the pastor began to speak about the journey of life, emphasizing the importance of having the Lord as our shepherd, taking each verse and relating it to life’s daily journey. When he had finished the simple, yet heartwarming message, he took requests for another hymn.

  Doc Wright spoke up. “Amazing Grace.”

  Ruth smiled sadly. It was her mother’s favorite hymn, and she and her father had always liked it, as well.

  Amazing grace! How sweet the sound, That saved a wretch like me. . .

  She lifted her voice in song, feeling joy stir through her soul.

  I once was lost, but now am found, Was blind, but now I see.