At the Rainbow’s End
A Novel
Jo Ann Ferguson
With love, for Lauri, Peter, and Marianne, for never complaining about all the “grab-it” meals while Mom is working on just one more page.
Chapter One
Even in the late light of the Yukon spring sun the mountains, caressed by clouds, could not shake off their winter stiffness. Hillsides rose sharply from the edges of the riverbank, covered with trees. Nothing softened the harsh lines of the Klondike horizon. Summer seemed a distant legend.
On the deck of the steamer W.K. Merwyn, Samantha Perry adjusted the collar of her cloak and regarded the primitive boom town clustered on the shore. She could not say she had not been warned. Joel had written to her of the hardships here, and the lack of conveniences she had taken for granted in Ohio. He also wrote, though, of how he longed to be with her.
Buildings clung together, little space between their walls to hold any rare warmth left from the long relentless winter. Mud darkened streets often rumored to be made of gold.
A constant stream of dreamers surged along these streets, looking for that lucky chance which would make them wealthy. An overwhelming number of men had already struggled to strip gold from the ground, she knew. Piles of abandoned supplies stood as monuments to those who had been defeated. The smart ones had returned to the United States. Only those blinded by the hope of riches remained.
“Do you see him?”
Samantha turned to smile at the plump, cheery woman who had become her friend on the 1300 mile trip up the Yukon. Gwen Goddard, her round cheeks more cherry red than usual, gripped her satchel and leaned dangerously far over the narrow rail of the steamer. Her sparkling eyes, the color of the river beneath them, scanned the men waiting on the pier.
“Mr. Houseman wrote,” explained Samantha, as she had often, “that he probably will be unable to meet the ship. I am to stay at the Dawson City Hotel, and he’ll find me there.”
“Not meet you?” Gwen looked at the younger woman, aghast.
Gwen wondered again why a pretty woman like Samantha Perry risked coming to the Yukon to be what was coarsely called a mail order bride. Any woman with such glistening, ebony hair and eyes nearly as dark must surely have attracted men closer to home. Many would be fascinated by her slender curves, nearly hidden beneath her sedately styled traveling suit.
Although she was unsure of Samantha’s exact age, Gwen was sure she was beyond the prime marriageable age of eighteen. Perhaps this was a factor.
Gwen preferred not to think about her own reasons for leaving home. Perhaps Samantha Perry ran from circumstances as hopelessly futile … or that husband she should have had by now.
“Don’t act so shocked,” Samantha said, laughing lightly and ignoring the open glances of nearby men. During the interminable voyage, she had become accustomed to the expressions of men hungry for the company of women. There were so few who came to this empty land. “Mr. Houseman’s claim is more than twelve miles from Dawson. He can’t make the trip into the city lightly. When he learns the Merwyn has docked, he will come for me.”
“Hmph,” said Gwen. Her Mr. Munroe would be one of the men on the docks waiting for the ship. She had insisted on that.
A whistle from the steamship halted all conversation, and Samantha looked again over Dawson. It was surely grander than the cabin on the small claim where her future husband hoped to find a fortune. On the flat land between the river and the mountains rising into the distance, almost every available inch was covered with primitive shacks. Many of the buildings sparkled with the greenish tint of new logs cut in the forest behind the city. Part of Dawson had burned the previous year, but 1898 found it resurrected and growing again.
“There he is!” cried Gwen. She grasped Samantha’s sleeve with one hand, jumping up and down and waving with the other.
Samantha scanned those on the dirt levee, but nobody seemed to match Gwen’s description of Mr. Munroe. The number of men in front of the riverside warehouses astounded her. She had known thousands crowded into the city and more lived along the Klondike, Eldorado, and Bonanza waterways, but those figures had meant little until now. That she did not see any women did not surprise her. Joel had written often of his longing to hear a feminine voice amid the rumble of male conversation. Not more than two hundred women had come to this harsh land.
She clenched her hands in front of her. The shore seemed to be a river. A human one, of men colored the same grays and browns as the earth around them. Where they were going or what they meant to do was an incomprehensible puzzle.
When some of those lounging on the quay noted the women on the deck, shouts went up to greet the ship with an enthusiasm which had been missing before.
“Oh, my!” she breathed as she saw the men waving their hats in her direction. Joel had warned her to expect things to be a bit different, but she had not thought it would be like this.
Gwen did not seem to share her embarrassment. She smiled in the direction of her audience and blew kisses. This brought even more reaction. When she heard Samantha’s whispered shock, she laughed. “Enjoy it, girl! Isn’t that why you came here? To be admired and feted as the only woman within miles?”
“No,” she answered, the adulation chasing her usual good humor, “I came because Mr. Houseman asked me to marry him.” Her eyes scanned the crowd, hoping that Joel had been able to leave his claim and come to meet her.
“Lordy!” exclaimed the round woman. “Don’t tell me again how you love this fellow!”
Samantha turned from the railing to regard her friend. Her clear, nearly black eyes met Gwen’s in confusion.
“You know I do. Why else would I come all this way?”
“And yet you’ve never met him.” Gwen frowned.
Glancing at the crowd forming a thick, constantly shifting arc on the shore, Samantha said, “I never have. But I love him and he loves me.”
“Hmph,” Gwen blurted. “Well, I don’t have such childish illusions. My Mr. Munroe is going to make me a wealthy woman. I will make him a happy man.” She put her hands on her generous hips and offered the lascivious grin which had so delighted the sailor who had kept her company during the long voyage. “It’s time to put my years of experience to work for my own profit. Someday Mr. Munroe and I’ll be the toasts of Dawson, or maybe even Chicago society.”
“I hope you are.” Samantha was not sure what else to say. She had guessed early in the voyage that Gwen had lived a life her own family would have termed immoral. Her suspicions were confirmed when Gwen’s quick alliance with the second mate took her away from their shared cabin night after night.
Many things she had thought unalterable had changed during her long journey north across half a continent to this alien world. Months ago, no one could have convinced her she would speak kindly to an ex-prostitute, but she considered Gwen a dear friend. She had not thought she would become accustomed to the desolation at the top of the world, yet she had become more than accustomed. During the long journey along the Yukon from St. Michael at the western end of Alaska Territory, she had learned to admire the uncharted wastes which few men had seen until news of gold came, two years ago.
She gripped the railing as the Merwyn ground to a stop. Again, the screech of the whistle cut through the afternoon air. She picked up her bag, which contained the few necessities she had kept with her since she left her home on the banks overlooking the Ohio River. Most of the things she had brought for herself and her new house were packed in two larger satchels, stored in the hold of the ship.
When she reached the gangplank, she was not surprised to see First Mate Penn waiting for her. He had made no secret of his interest. After the one time she had been foolish enough to let
him catch her off-guard, she had become adept at making sure he could not corner her alone during the few dark hours.
“Are you sure about this, Miss Perry?” he asked as she made ready to step onto the plank.
“I’ve told you over and over that Mr. Houseman has offered me a respectable proposal. Much different than what you did.” She did not keep the irritation from her voice as she moved aside to let Gwen and the other passengers pass.
He grinned, totally unrepentant. He felt that he had the right to hold her slender form in his arms and taste the sweet pleasures of her lips. Now he remembered her slap stinging his face, but the memory brought more yearning. Lightly, he admonished, “You can’t fault a man for desiring you. It’s a shame we couldn’t reconcile our differences, as your friend did with Skellie. The voyage would have been quite a bit more fun.”
Arching her eyebrows, she glared at him.
“Miss Perry—Samantha—listen.” He took her arm, ignoring Gwen’s shrill urgings for her to hurry. The lusty humor had vanished from his face. In a serious tone she had never heard him use, he said, “You don’t know this Houseman. He may not be what you expect. If you need to get away from him, just come to the line’s office over there in the first warehouse. Tell them I promised to pay your fare home.”
“Mr. Penn, I—”
He shook his head. “Don’t misunderstand. You’ll be under no obligation to me, other than to have dinner with me in St. Michael.” Looking past her to the mob waiting on the shore, he said, “I just can’t leave you to all the boom town fools. If things don’t work out, they’ll be pleased to make lovely Samantha Perry the star of Dawson. I think you might find the price of such adulation more than you wish to pay.”
She pulled away from his broad hands, straightening the sleeves of her jacket. Resettling her cloak on her shoulders, she said, “You worry needlessly. By the time you come back to Dawson, I shall be Mrs. Joel Houseman. My husband will see I am protected from the less desirable elements of the city.” The frigid tone of her voice softened as she added, “But thank you, Mr. Penn.”
She did not look back as she walked down the bouncy board to the shore. Gwen’s smile had broadened into a vast cheery grin. Surrounded by a host of admirers, she did not seem in a particular hurry to find her Mr. Munroe.
A hand was held out, but Samantha disregarded it. Ignoring the crush of men, she walked resolutely alone to her friend. Willing her cheeks not to broadcast her embarrassment as she heard all her feminine attributes discussed openly, she tapped Gwen’s shoulder.
“Don’t you think we should be going?” she asked, glancing about uneasily.
“No hurry.” Gwen smiled an open invitation to the crowd around them. “Look all you wish, boys, but Miss Perry is spoken for, as well.”
“Gwen, we must be going.” Samantha could feel heat signaling that her face was scarlet. Taking her friend by the arm, she steered her toward what appeared to be the center of town. Lowering her voice, she stated, “Don’t urge them on!”
Laughing with easy amusement, Gwen answered, “I know you’re sure you’ll love your Mr. Houseman. I have to wait a while before I’m sure I want to stay with my Mr. Munroe.” She glanced over her shoulder and winked at the brazen men following them. “If I decide not to, I want to have others to choose from.”
“But you’re going to marry him!” Samantha could not hide her shock.
“Don’t be so puritan, Samantha.” Then, in contrast to her previous statement, she cried, “Look! There he is! My Mr. Munroe! Mr. Munroe!”
Samantha was left alone on the quay as her friend ran forward to a man roly poly as an egg. His bald head glistened in the sunshine, burned nearly as red as his flannel shirt. The ends of a faded brown mustache drooped from his upper lip past his chin. His lost expression disappearing, he held out his arms to welcome his long-awaited bride.
Holding her bag in front of her, Samantha did not move closer, unwilling to intrude. She wondered what kind of marriage they could have, when Gwen already spoke of leaving him. Then Gwen threw her arms enthusiastically around the man, who was shorter than her by nearly three inches. Samantha smiled. It might work out wonderfully. Despite Gwen’s coarse exterior, she secretly wished to be adored by one man.
Suddenly she became aware of the crowd. To her left and her right men regarded her with the same expression she had viewed in her shipmates’ eyes when they spoke of the strikes they would make along one of the nearby rivers. These lonely men yearned for a woman almost as much as they wanted gold.
A man stepped away from the others. Tipping his dirt-crusted hat, he said, “Welcome to Dawson, miss.”
Unsure of what to say, she started to walk away.
“Miss?”
She turned. He grinned, his bony face brightening through a film of dried mud. Putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he walked toward her.
Softly, she said, “I must be going, sir.”
“A question first, if I may. Is it true what the other one says, miss? Are you spoken for?” Wistfully he continued, “Did she mean a husband? Or could it be you’ll be working in the city? Me and the boys would be right pleased to see you at the Monte Carlo or the Hotel.”
Again color rose in her cheeks. She wished she could control the blush which betrayed her, but it was impossible. What this man was intimating with his polite words would have offended her greatly before the beginning of her trip. Now, being labelled a potential dance hall girl or harlot bothered her most because of the intensity of his candid admiration.
Stepping backward, she said, “I came to Dawson to marry my fiancé, sir. I didn’t come to work in such an establishment. Good day, sir.”
He nodded and tipped his hat again politely, unable to hide his disappointment. Clearly he believed that the few women who came to the Yukon should be shared.
Gwen called, saving her from further embarrassment, and she hurried to where her friend stood with her arm possessively around Mr. Munroe. He certainly did not fit the description in his letters, but Gwen did not seem upset by his falsehoods.
“I’m charmed, Miss Samantha Perry,” the plump man hastened to say. As he lisped her name, his smile asked her forgiveness.
“As I am, Mr. Munroe.” She meant her words. Already she hoped Gwen would decide to take her vows of marriage seriously. This man seemed overwhelmed by his good fortune.
Gwen bubbled, “You must come to our wedding. We aren’t delaying. We are getting married as soon as we can find a preacher.”
“Now?” Samantha bit back her next words. It was not her place to judge. She soon would be following the same course, and her Joel Houseman might be as different from his letters as this man.
Trepidation raced through her, cracking her self assurance. She had never thought Joel might have lied to her. Each of her letters came directly from the heart, and she assumed he had penned his with the same openness.
Now she told herself fiercely to believe in the man she loved. Just because Gwen and Mr. Munroe had been less than honest with each other was no reason to believe Joel Houseman had been false with her.
She allowed Mr. Munroe to take her bag and put it in the back of his rickety wagon. His bulbous hand held hers as he assisted her onto the seat, where she was squeezed between them on the narrow seat board.
The horses had to strain mightily to pull the wagon through the deep mud of the main streets. Few other vehicles could be seen. Mr. Munroe said that all horses which survived the horrid journey north were guarded jealously. The value of any beast of burden increased more than a hundredfold here in Dawson.
Mr. Munroe delighted in the chatter of his glib wife-to-be. Gwen did not give him a chance to do more than give his assent to her many plans. If he considered disagreeing with her, he wisely said nothing.
With pride, he pointed out the many saloons in the city. He watched the shock on their faces when he told them the bank often kept as much as two million dollars in gold dust in its vault, in two tin-lined boxe
s made of wood without so much as a lock to protect them. No one wanted that gold. They were sure more waited in the rivers or in the bench claims on the hillsides.
He drew in the horses in front of a small hut indistinguishable from its neighbors. Telling them to wait, he leapt from the box and ran to the door. While he knocked, Gwen turned to her friend. Childish glee brightened her face.
“Isn’t he wonderful, Samantha?”
“I think he cares very much for you.” Gwen did not notice Samantha’s cautious response. The genial Mr. Munroe seemed nice, but she wished her friend would take a few days to get better acquainted with him before the exchanging of vows. She felt very uncomfortable about this.
Oblivious, Gwen let nothing slow her enthusiasm. She babbled about the wonderful life she would have with this man, who was sure to find a pile of gold as tall as her any day. Then they would be happy and so wealthy, able to tell the world exactly what they thought.
When Mr. Munroe came back, his face was aglow. “The reverend is in, Miss Goddard. He’ll be glad to marry us without further ado.”
“That’s wonderful.” Gwen offered him her hand, stepping from the wagon grandly as if she were already the rich woman she longed to be. Walking with him to the door, she called over her shoulder, “Hurry, Samantha!”
As Samantha slid from the high seat, her skirt caught on a rough edge. This dark rose suit was her best. She did not think she could replace it in this wilderness. Standing awkwardly near the wagon, she worked to loosen it without tearing the fabric.
Looking up from her task, she realized that several men were watching her intently. She lowered her eyes. With every second since her arrival in Dawson, she had become more aware of how intrigued the local men were by her. Finally yanking the skirt free, she ran up the steps and into the parsonage.
She tried to hide her reaction when she entered the single room. Mining equipment was dumped in one corner. A spry man dressed in denims and flannels was seeking something. Until Gwen whispered that the minister had to find his book, Samantha had no idea he was the clergyman.
At the Rainbow's End Page 1