Silent Stranger

by Darty, Peggy;

To his good fortune, there was one cot left, and a pot of hot coffee waited on the stove for those coming in from the cold.

  “Warm yourself,” Miss Mattie said, motioning him onto a bench at the long wooden table.

  She was a stout woman who usually dressed in her husband’s trousers and flannel shirts and wore her hair slicked back in a bun. Her lack of femininity in appearance was compensated for in her tasty food and clean, comfortable home.

  “Thank you,” Joe said, easing down onto the bench and sipping at the coffee. “Mighty good,” he said, giving her his best smile.

  She hesitated for a moment, staring into his face. Then she glanced back at the stove. “Got some dumplings on the stove if you’re hungry.”

  Joe hesitated, not wanting to impose, and yet he hadn’t eaten since last night. He recalled his meal of cold beans and hard tack and his stomach growled.

  Miss Mattie, unaccustomed to being argued with, was already dipping out some dumplings in a small tin pan.

  “Better stock up with groceries before you head back,” she said, placing the pan down before him. “No more boats are coming in till spring, and the stores are already starting to ration food. It will get scarce. Did last winter.”

  He nodded; then as he tasted the dumplings, he realized that renting a cot did not cover good food as well. “Miss Mattie, I don’t feel right eating your food unless you add a little more to my bill. Please do that.”

  Her gray eyes shot to him, then she shrugged. “All right. Another dollar will cover you. How long did you say you’ll be staying here?”

  Joe was enjoying the taste of the rich dumplings so much that it took a moment for him to swallow and reply. “Just long enough to pick up some supplies.” Then his thoughts moved on to one of his reasons for returning to Dawson. Ruth Wright. “I may need to stop in at Doc Wright’s clinic and get him to check my back again.”

  She whirled from the stove and looked at him with an expression of surprise. “Haven’t you—no, you’ve been out in the bush,” she said, answering her own question. “Guess you can’t keep up with the town news. Doc Wright died almost two months ago. Heart attack.”

  Joe almost dropped his fork. He stared at Miss Mattie for a moment. “What about. . .what will happen to his clinic?”

  Miss Mattie sighed and shrugged. “It’s closed down. There’s only one doctor left, Arthur Bradley, and he’s still wet behind the ears. I shouldn’t say that. Most folks think he’s all right. He just suffers in comparison to Doc Wright.” Her chest heaved beneath the flannel shirt. “It’s a tragedy for Dawson City that we’ve lost Doc.”

  Joe stared into space, shaking his head. “He was a nice man. I liked him a lot.” He cleared his throat. “What about his daughter? Is she still here?”

  “The last boat had pulled out the day he died.” She shook her head. “It’s a shame she couldn’t go back to Seattle. I heard she was all tore up about Doc’s death.” She was pouring flour into a large bowl. Then she added two handfuls of sugar. “She’s a good nurse, though. I hear she wouldn’t see anybody for a while, then Dr. Bradley persuaded her to go to work for him in his clinic. Nell Greenwood says they’ll probably team up. Nell’s the town crier, you know.”

  Joe arched an eyebrow. “No, I don’t know her.”

  “Then you’ve missed being grilled about where you come from and what you’re doing here.”

  “Is that right?” He made a mental note to avoid the woman at all costs.

  “Yep. Nell keeps up with everybody’s business.”

  “What do you mean about Miss Wright and Dr. Bradley teaming up?” Joe frowned, hoping this meant they would team up as the local nurse and doctor.

  Miss Mattie turned back to the stove. “Dr. Bradley and Ruth Wright are sharing Thanksgiving dinner with the Greenwoods. Nell says there’s a romance in the making. Dr. Bradley’s a widower, you know?” she asked, glancing back over her shoulder.

  Joe stared into his plate. “No, I don’t know him.” Nor did he want to know him if Ruth was interested in him. “Where does he come from?” he couldn’t resist asking.

  “Victoria. He’s a nice man, little too nice for Dawson, if you ask me.”

  Joe nodded. He could see how Ruth would have a lot in common with someone like that, and if she worked in his clinic, perhaps it would help her to survive a long, cruel winter.

  “Don’t you like my dumplings?” Miss Mattie asked, thrusting her hands on her hips and staring at his half-filled plate.

  “They’re wonderful. I think my stomach just shrunk a bit since I’ve been doing my own cooking.”

  He picked up the fork and tried to resume his meal with enthusiasm, but he was merely going through the motions in order not to offend Miss Mattie. His thoughts were centered on Ruth, and he found himself filled with a mix of emotions. He had been unable to get her out of his mind since leaving Dawson City. In fact, his plan had been to clean up a bit then head right over to the clinic. Miss Mattie’s bad news had changed everything.

  He stared at the scarred plank boards of the eating table. Doc Wright had been a good, decent man. Joe was saddened by the news of his death. He was glad he had attended church with them, and yet he had sensed a cautiousness about the man where his daughter was concerned. Joe could certainly understand why. Doc had gone out of his way to be kind to him, and yet Joe had watched a wall of reserve going up when he caught Joe staring at Ruth.

  Thinking back, he recalled that it had been Ruth who invited him to church, and she had smiled at him as though she liked him. Doc had noticed that, of course.

  Joe sighed, pushing his plate aside. In comparison with this city-bred doctor, he had nothing to offer. No matter how much he wanted to see Ruth Wright, he must force himself to stay away from her now. She would be much better off with Bradley.

  He came slowly to his feet, feeling tired to the bone. “You asked how long I’ll be here. I’ll only be staying the night. As soon as I round up what I need, I’ll be riding out in the morning.”

  Miss Mattie nodded. “Then I’ll have you some hot biscuits on the stove.”

  “Thanks,” he said, trying to smile.

  His heart was not in his smile nor his words. He felt a keen disappointment welling up inside. He should be accustomed to the feeling by now, but he was not. Particularly not where Ruth Wright was concerned. Being in her presence had awakened something deep in his soul. It was as though a candle had been lit in the darkness. He had been happy. But now the candle had been extinguished.

  ❧

  Ruth stood in the Dawson City cemetery staring bleakly at her father’s grave. A cold wind raced across the frozen Yukon and snatched at the hood of her black woolen cloak. The hood gave way and now her auburn hair was exposed to the elements, but she didn’t care. Nor did she care that she had lost weight and looked as devastated as she felt.

  As she stared at the mound of dirt that covered her father, thick tears streamed down her cold cheeks. Absently, she thrust her kid glove into the deep pocket of her skirt and withdrew the crumpled lace handkerchief he had given her, one of many Christmas gifts last year.

  She touched the soft handkerchief to her eyes, then her nose, and sniffed hard.

  “Good-bye for today, Father,” she spoke softly. “I know you and Mother are together. . .safe and happy. . .together in heaven.”

  While that knowledge brought her comfort, at the same time she was filled with the deepest sense of loneliness and despair that she had ever known. She was completely alone here in this frozen country, cut off from the world until late next spring or whenever the weather warmed enough to thaw the Yukon River. Alone except for Arthur, who had been so very kind to her.

  She took a deep quivering breath, refusing to allow pity or regret to get a foothold in her heart. She was glad she had come here with her father; she would feel worse if she had thwarted his last dream.

  She pulled her hood over her head and turned from the grave. Squaring her shoulders, she drew her slender body erect, t
rying to call forth the strength she knew she would need to survive. As she walked back toward home, she paid little attention to the people hurrying in and out of shops or the occasional miner and his mule or his dogs. She thought of stopping in to see Arthur on this Sunday. It would be nice to visit on a day when the clinic was closed. But she wasn’t even up to attending church services this morning, and now she didn’t feel like a social call. All she wanted was to lock herself in her house, curl up in bed, and sleep. Arthur told her that wasn’t healthy, that she must go on with her life. It was exactly what her father would say. In fact, her father had liked Arthur and would be pleased to know that he was calling on her.

  She sighed. In time, God would restore her if she clung to His promises and kept reading her mother’s Bible. It was all that gave her comfort and hope now. As she reached her house, she quickened her pace, climbing the steps and unlocking the door.

  She was going to put the teakettle on and make a pot of tea. She was trying to drink more tea and less coffee, since coffee was being rationed at the mercantile. She still had a good supply in the pantry, but she knew she must be saving with it.

  As always, the echo of her footsteps on the boards in the hall reminded her of how quiet the house was and how alone she felt. Arthur had offered to buy the house, but she didn’t know where that would leave her, and she wasn’t ready to think about a permanent relationship with him. Not yet. Perhaps in time.

  ❧

  Joe strapped his newly purchased supplies onto the horse and glanced up at the sky. He had been pleased to see sunshine when he awoke and peered through the window by his cot. When he entered Miss Mattie’s kitchen, she had informed him that it was going to be a pleasant day. Her hot coffee and thick biscuits had reinforced her prediction.

  He placed his boot into the stirrup and pulled himself into the saddle. Turning the horse’s head, he trotted through town, trying to forget that he must pass the clinic in the next block. Miss Mattie’s words had stayed with him throughout the night. It should have been his best night’s sleep in weeks, but he had slept fitfully. The room was warm, the cot was comfortable, and the men occupying other cots had not snored loudly enough to bother him. Ruth Wright bothered him. What would happen to her?

  It was not his business, he told himself as he approached her frame house, yet he couldn’t resist a quick glance in that direction. The house looked forlorn, with the curtains drawn and no one coming or going. His eyes strayed to the front door, and he thought about how welcome he had felt when he walked through that door and how good the Wrights had been to him. He continued to stare at the house, hoping that a curtain would part, that he would see her face framed in the window. Then he would feel he had an excuse to stop by and say hello. But the curtains remained closed and the door did not open.

  He turned his eyes back to the road before him. Soon he would be out of Dawson City, heading back to the crude cabin he shared with Ivan for the winter. That knowledge brought a weight to his heart, and for a moment he could hardly resist the temptation to go back to the Wright house to speak with Ruth.

  No, he had made himself a promise not to interfere in her life now. He drew a deep breath and forced his eyes toward the other travelers along the road. Occasionally, he met another miner coming or going, their faces haggard, their eyes weary.

  The craze for gold—it gripped all of them and held them tight. It kept them digging into the frozen ground, hauling up bucket after bucket of dirt, searching, hoping, praying for the sight of gold flecks, nuggets, or yes—a vein of gold that would transport them from rags to riches.

  Glancing at the last tent on the edge of town, his eyes froze. It was the tent that served as a church, the church he had attended with the Wrights. The tent was emptying of people, and he realized this was Sunday and the service had just concluded.

  He pulled on the reins to halt his sorrel and sat back in the saddle, staring at the people coming out of the tent. Ruth was not among them. Had she stopped going to church? He frowned. That possibility troubled him; it would mean she was as distraught as Miss Mattie had indicated.

  His eyes lifted to the snow-covered roof of the tent. Ruth and her father had brought him here, opened a door in his heart that he thought he had firmly closed. Still, that door they had opened was ajar, and he had been nagged by a longing to return to God. Once upon a time there had been peace in his life, peace when he had lived by God’s rules. But for a long time he had lived by his own rules.

  It took several seconds for him to realize that he and his horse had come to a dead halt in the center of the road, that he was simply staring at the strangers who must think his behavior odd.

  He turned his eyes to the road ahead, but something more important lingered in his mind. Doc Wright and his daughter had brought something good back into his life, if only for a short while. He had found peace inside that tent during their little church service. He wasn’t back on the spiritual path yet, but he felt the call, as surely as he felt the call to search for Klondike gold.

  He shifted in his saddle and glanced back over his shoulder. The very least he could do was express his sympathy to her and his thanks for what she and her father had done for him. There was something wrong about riding into town and then leaving without at least paying his respects.

  Gently, he turned the horse’s head and trotted back toward Ruth Wright’s house.

  six

  Ruth stood at the stove, stirring the stew. She had decided to make use of some remnants in the pantry, making an odd mix of what she could find. She cooked conservatively these days, but she had no appetite, and even if she did, she knew she had to be careful with her food supply.

  She heard the whinny of a horse and removed her wooden spoon and laid it on the spoon rest. Wearily, she walked to the window to look down, wondering which patient had not heard about her father’s death. She had turned so many away, although on three occasions she had been able to help. She had served as midwife for two babies and bandaged up one minor cut.

  When her glance fell on Joe Spencer getting down from his horse, her breath caught. For a moment she stood mesmerized, watching him slowly loop the reins of his horse around the log hitching rail. Then suddenly she came alive. Her hands flew to her hair, patting it back into the chignon as she turned and hurried down the steps to the front door, just as he began to knock.

  Of course she had thought of him many times the past weeks, wondered about him. Still, she had resigned herself to the fact that it would be a long time before she saw him again, if ever. Like so many others, she thought he might have given up and left Dawson.

  Turning the key in the lock, she opened the door and looked into his serious blue eyes. For the first time in days, she felt a little smile creep over her mouth.

  “Hello,” she said as he removed his hat. “Come in.”

  He hesitated for a moment, scraping the soles of his boots on the mat. She found herself thinking of the many others who never bothered to do that.

  She held the door back for him as he stepped inside the hall, and she stepped back from him then closed the door. The cold air whipped in with him, bringing a smell of spruce and horseflesh and a pleasant soap. He was wearing a heavy parka over jeans and chaps; his boots were clean.

  He was staring at the closed door of the clinic. She wondered for a moment if he knew, but the sadness in his eyes told her that he did.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked.

  He looked back at her, his hat pressed against his chest. “Thank you. I’d like that very much.”

  She nodded. “Come on up.”

  He paused long enough to hook his hat and coat on the hall tree, then he followed her up the stairs.

  Lifting her skirts to climb the stairs, she wondered fleetingly if this was proper, having Joe Spencer up to her kitchen when they were alone in the house. Proper no longer mattered in this situation. She was glad to see this man, and she wanted to know what he had been doing since she last saw him.<
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  As they entered the living room, the warmth from the cook stove reached them. She glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t heat the downstairs now.”

  He nodded. “Good idea. Miss Wright. . . ,” he began then faltered.

  She knew what he was trying to say and tried to smile. “I’m glad you stopped by,” she answered, turning toward the kitchen. “Did you just arrive?”

  His boots echoed over the wooden boards as he entered the kitchen. “No. I came last night. I needed supplies.”

  She was pouring tea into the cup, and now she glanced over the curl of steam as she handed the cup to him. “I see,” she said, registering the fact that he hadn’t rushed right over as she had dared to hope.

  He cleared his throat as she poured herself a cup of tea and motioned him toward the kitchen table.

  “Actually, I had planned to stop in when I arrived late yesterday,” he was saying as he settled into a chair opposite her at the table. “Then I heard the bad news about your father. . .”

  She dropped her eyes, staring into the dark tea.

  “I wanted to come and tell you how sorry I am,” he said in a gentle voice. “You must be completely grief stricken.”

  She nodded, averting her eyes. “I am.” She swallowed hard. Surely there were no tears left, but she could feel her throat tighten in a threat. “I’ve had an awful time adjusting. In fact, for the first two weeks, I couldn’t even leave the house. I just sat here and cried.” She took a deep breath and then looked at him. “I’ve gone to work at Dr. Bradley’s clinic and that seems to help. At least, it keeps my mind off my own situation.”

  “What are your plans?”

  She sighed. “My plans? I’m afraid I don’t have any plans.” She lifted her eyes and looked around the kitchen. “I’ve sold most of the medical supplies to Dr. Bradley.” She wondered why he suddenly dropped his eyes to the tea, not looking at her. “I’ve kept a few necessary items—gauze, first aid supplies, that sort of thing. Is there anything you might like to take back to camp?” she asked suddenly.