James looked unsettled at such revelations, as if he had assumed she was a society woman used to tea at four and a bed turned down by a maid at night. When Kaatje thought about it, though she still worked in running the roadhouse, she had become, in many ways, the woman he believed her to be. But down deep, she was still the same Kaatje who had shouldered too much pain to ever wither at the sight of danger or hard work again. She might not have been born strong, but life had made her fiercely resilient.
He crossed his arms and resumed his dubious expression. She had surprised him, but she had not yet won. “It will cost you a considerable amount. You are speaking of a journey of three…no, four months. We’ll need provisions. And cash. Items to barter if we need assistance or goods from the natives.”
“You will receive half before leaving,” Trent interjected. “And half when you bring Mrs. Janssen safely home.” He took a step forward, eye to eye with the guide. “And understand that if you fail to bring her home safely, you will pay for it.”
“I don’t take kindly to threats, Mr. Storm.” James turned toward the door, clearly dismissing them and their insane proposition.
“No, wait!” Kaatje cried. She intercepted James and placed a hand on his forearm, thick and muscular beneath her fingertips. “Please. I must go. I must!” With her eyes she begged him to understand.
His eyes searched hers while he formulated his words. “Why? Why, woman, would you risk your life? Why would you leave your daughters to do this?” He dropped his tone. “Does the man owe you money? Why would you go to such great lengths to find a louse of a husband? Why not let him go? Divorce him. Heaven knows you have your reasons.”
“Please,” was all she said in response. “Please.” He was the best guide available. It had to be James Walker. She felt it in her bones.
“Why don’t you just send me and Kadachan? We’ll give you a full report—”
“No. I must do this. I must be there when you find him…or his grave.”
James looked over at Trent, desperation in his voice. “Tell her it’s crazy. Tell her that women just don’t enter the Interior unless they don’t care if they’ll come back.”
“I have,” Trent said, his voice resigned, miserable.
“Please,” she whispered again, still staring at James.
He brushed her hand from his forearm, as if her touch had suddenly burned him. “Be ready in two days. The ice has broken. Kadachan and I’ll go then.”
She nodded, unable to say anything more as the tears choked her.
“I’ll drop off a list of necessities by tomorrow.” Then James said to Trent, “I need to know everything you know about this…man, if I’m to find him.”
“We’ll see that you do.”
James paused as if wanting to say something more, then placed a well-worn, brown cowboy hat on his head, straightened the brim, and, after another long, searching look at Kaatje, left.
Trent stepped up behind her and put a supportive hand on her shoulder as she stared out the empty, open door of the roadhouse. “Are you sure, Kaatje? Are you sure this is what you must do?” Tora joined them and slipped her arm through Kaatje’s.
“I have never been more sure of anything in my life.” She did not look at her friends. “Trent, if I die, I’ll need you and Tora to take care of my girls.”
Trent paused. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Kaatje. But you know if something did, we would.”
Tears again choked Kaatje. She ducked her head, whispering a “thank you” toward her friends and rushing up the stairs to her bedroom. She shut the door and dived onto her bed, giving in to the tears.
When they abated, she rolled on her back and wiped her face with a handkerchief. “Oh, Father in heaven,” she whispered. “I have sworn to Mr. Walker that I fear nothing. For years you have been taking me to this place, to this day. But if I am so sure that this is the way I am to go, why am I suddenly so, so overwhelmed at the task before me?”
Nearly a month had passed since that conversation, and her life had changed drastically. Kaatje’s attention jerked back to the present as a chunk of ice hit their riverboat broadside and pushed them. She bit her tongue, wanting to shout out, but the men had enough on their hands without screams from their troublesome cargo. The boat leaned left, threatening to capsize, and Kaatje instinctively leaned right with the men to counterbalance it. Their combined weight thrust them to the opposite side of the boat, tipping dangerously to the right. James let out a sound of intense exasperation. Kadachan remained silent. Miraculously the boat steadied, and with his pole Kadachan pushed the small iceberg away from the side, allowing them to resume their route upriver.
“I have told you,” James said, after several long, tense moments, “to do only what I tell you. I did not tell you to lean right.” “I was only trying—”
“Only what I tell you.” He never looked at her. In fact, Kaatje thought, in all the time they had been traveling, he looked at her only when absolutely necessary.
Kadachan said something softly in Tlingit to James, the sound low and guttural.
James looked about them and muttered something Kaatje couldn’t make out. They were canvassing their surroundings, and James had obviously seen the soft bank up ahead, just past the hundred yards of limestone cliffs that climbed thirty feet above them. Were they going to land for midday dinner? Kaatje hoped so. Not that she would tell James. Not after that last little lecture he’d given. She didn’t intend to ever speak to him again, after that rude display. Even if her stomach went on rumbling for hours.
Within ten minutes they reached the shore, the bow crunching against tiny rounded pebbles of whale gray and ivory white. James hopped out and hauled the boat more securely onto shore. There was a soft splash as Kadachan entered the water and helped him. As had become their habit, the men scouted up and down the riverbank while Kaatje untied the leather-wrapped provisions. She inwardly groaned at the thought of more jerky, dried fruit, and hardtack. What would it feel like to be eating hardtack after several months? Once in a while James took the time to fish with Kadachan, but that was rare. They were pushing hard, covering as many miles a day as they could. As it was, they would be hard-pressed to make it back to Juneau by autumn.
Setting the pack down at the tree line and pausing to stretch stiff muscles, she glanced at Kadachan, who met her eyes with a look of toleration and semifriendliness. The Tlingit Indian was nearly as tall as James, probably about five feet nine inches, rare for native men of the region. His skin was the color of the red chocolate cake the baker used to make in Bergen.
How faraway Bergen seemed to her now! Never in her life had she ever supposed she would be on a river in the Yukon, looking for Soren. Never had she imagined lugging seventy-five pounds of supplies—“a white man’s burden,” Kadachan called it, compared to the men’s hundred-pound packs—over the White Pass. She thought back on it now with a smug smile. James had probably wagered that she would not make it to the pass. Midway, when she stumbled for the third time and took her boots off to rub sore toes, he had picked them up, broken the heels off, and handed them back to her. “That should help,” he grunted, although for a moment Kaatje could sense a kindness in his look, as if he could see her vulnerability and wanted to protect her. But then the expression was gone, and he stood back with his hands on his hips, as if waiting for her to say, “You were right. Let’s go back.”
Well, she had shown him! She looked back toward Skagway. The mountainsides met in alternating fashion, like huge woven threads of the Master’s creation. It amazed her she had made it up such a steep pass with a pack upon her back. She was proud of herself for making it so far, for proving James Walker wrong. She had reveled in her victory, all the way around the interconnecting lakes that led to Lake Bennett and, eventually, the river. But they were far from done, and the journey still ahead of them threatened to overwhelm her.
Kaatje looked over at James. “I am going.” She paused, still unused to discussing private needs wi
th men. James nodded, looking out to the river. Unable to suppress a sigh, she turned and walked into the forest, searching for a suitable place to relieve herself. Afterward, she decided to give her legs a much-needed stretch. After a few minutes of ducking branches and squeezing between trees, she reached a meadow.
She welcomed the silence of her surroundings, the noisy rush of the river muffled by the span of trees. She stifled a feeling of guilt, remembering the many times Mr. Walker had told her to stay near them. It had been weeks, after all, since she had had any time to herself. Any woman would do the same.
She smiled as she stared over the lumpy tufts of grass, hot pink lapland rosebay flowering amidst it. Dark gray rocks, covered with light green lichens, stretched to the edges of the meadow. And Kaatje wondered if this place had once been a pond. She could almost see a bull moose, slowly raising his homely nose from the still waters, long strands of moss hanging from his mouth. To her right, the hillside climbed steeply. She knew the craggy peaks visible here and there from the river must be beyond them. How far of a hike could it be to that view? She never thought she would say it after the pass, but after two weeks in the boat, a climb uphill sounded heavenly.
Kaatje turned at once and began the ascent. If she hurried, she could get back to the river before the men missed her. Within minutes, she topped the first hill, and the sight made her catch her breath. There were indeed mountains above her, astounding, snow-covered peaks. Back home in Bergen, and even in the Washington Territory, most of the mountains had been climbed and named. But here in Alaska peak after peak had never been climbed and certainly never named. She grinned at the sight. She knew that if Soren had ever seen such mountains he would have smiled too. The wind rustled the dense bushes nearby, and for the first time Kaatje noticed that she was beneath a thicket of huckleberries. If only it were later in the year! The fat, sweet-tart fruit would be the perfect remedy to their boring fare. Oh, well. She turned around and could almost make out the bright silver river between the trees beneath her. It was the most satisfying sight she had—
“Go!” Kadachan whispered, suddenly at her side. She whirled in fright, wondering how her native guide had reached her so stealthily. “Go!” he repeated, still staring above her.
“What?” She looked over her shoulder. Beyond her was James, hunched over with his hat in his hands. He scowled over at them and signaled Kadachan to get her to the river. It was only then that Kaatje saw the bear.
A grizzly.
Her heart froze for a moment and then pounded in such a rush that she fought for breath.
Kadachan slipped his hand around hers, each finger testifying to his strength, and urged her to bend over, to look smaller. Kaatje’s eyes went back to the bear above them and James ten yards away. The bear raised up on its hind legs, sniffing the air. A female. Worse, a tiny cub did the same beside her, mimicking her in a way that, in any other situation, Kaatje would have found charming.
No one had to tell her how bad it was to surprise a mother bear.
With agonizing slowness, they stepped backward, away from the bushes. No doubt, the bear was as frustrated as Kaatje that there were no berries to be had. Leaving nothing to eat but us, she thought desperately. And James. Her guide was clearly intent upon intercepting the bear, should she charge. No! No Father, please! It is my fault! They were just beyond the bear’s sight when Kaatje heard the crash of breaking bush limbs and the “hiyeeyee!” call of James.
“Kadachan!” she cried. But he was pulling her downhill, rushing her toward the trees as fast as he could take her. When it was clear she would reach the forest, and the gun in the boat if necessary, he turned and ran back up the long hill. It was then that she spotted the pointed lance now in his hand—the one he always carried with him in the boat. He held it and watched for James as he crested the hill, the bear almost upon him.
If Kaatje hadn’t seen it, she would never have believed it. As if they had practiced it a hundred times, James wrenched himself into the air with a guttural cry, catapulting over Kadachan, who had crouched low over his lance. As soon as James had cleared, Kadachan raised his lance, the pointed end directed toward the rapidly descending bear, the butt of it pushed into the spongy soil.
The bear had no chance. With a roar she tackled the man at the same time that the lance impaled her. Over and over they rolled, bear over man, man over bear. By the time Kadachan and the thousand-pound bear came to rest at the bottom of the hill, the grizzly was dead, and, miraculously, Kadachan lived. Heart pounding, Kaatje looked up the hill, a line of bright-red blood marking their trail of descent. The tiny bear cub mewled at the top, making Kaatje want to cry.
James ran to Kadachan, pulling him from beneath the grizzly’s haunches. Kadachan leaned his head back and laughed, displaying a terrific row of crooked teeth, and let out a victorious cry.
He had been attacked by a grizzly—should have been crushed by that grizzly—but lived through it. Somehow, Kaatje knew it wasn’t the first time. James, as he looked over at her, did not seem nearly as celebratory. He marched toward her, a look of anger on his face.
Onward he came, never pausing, taking long, quick strides. His color was gray and his hands, as big as Kadachan’s, were shaking and he raised one as if to clamp down on Kaatje. He was just about to find the words when she stopped him with two. “I’m sorry.”
He paused and then paced before her, as if working to find a way to express his fury. Starting, and then stopping, over and over again. After several minutes, Kadachan approached them, watching. His expression was that of subdued amusement. James turned his back on her, a hand resting against the rough bark of a pine tree. With a shaking voice, he said lowly, “I intend to collect on my other half.”
“Your…other half?” Kaatje was incredulous—all he apparently cared about was money! The mercenary! With a short laugh, she passed him on the way back to the boat. It was embarrassing, putting them all in mortal danger. She was ashamed of herself. But there was no way she would let James know that now. “You’ll get your other half, Mr. Walker,” she spit out. “You can count on it.”
one
James knew she must be hungry. He stared at Kaatje across the firepit, the coals reflecting in her green, luminous eyes. He glanced back at the meat on the spit as fat dripped from it, then sizzled on the hot stones beneath. They had not spoken for hours, which was not uncommon. But this sort of tension was. He had regretted his comment about the money as soon as it left his lips, but it was the first thing that came to mind that expressed his anger at her thoughtless stroll into the woods, his fear that she could have been mauled, his confusion because he cared. It was stupid, what he’d said. But he could not find the courage to apologize. It was easier facing a mother bear in the heat of the moment than uttering soft words after hours of consideration. He stirred the coals and stubbornly avoided looking at her.
“You did not have to kill the cub,” she said, the first to speak.
“We did. If we had not, she would have starved. Better to use the meat for good than to waste it.”
“It was barbaric.”
James snorted and poked at the meat. “This is barbaric country. What would have happened had that mother bear tackled you instead of Kadachan? What if he had not had his lance ready? Do you think she would have paused before eating us?”
Kaatje looked to the side, toward the forest. “It was my fault.”
“Yes.”
“You could try and make me feel better about it, you know.”
“I know.”
She rose and glared at him across the fire. Her hair was loose and flowing over one shoulder. It shone in the firelight, and James checked his emotions, forcing his eyes back to the roast.
“Mr. Walker, this can be an amiable trip, or it can be miserable. Do you not wish for us to get along?”
He went on poking his stick into the coals, watching as more bear fat fell to the pit. “We can get along, Mrs. Janssen. I have told you how that can happen.”
Kaatje let out a sigh and paced before the fire. James dared to look at her, admiring the curves beneath shirt and split skirt. He had known it was a mistake to bring a woman. He knew it! Why hadn’t he listened to his gut?
“You are downright rude, Mr. Walker,” she began, looking as though she wanted to shake a finger at him. He stifled a smile. “You’ve been by yourself too long. You can’t call Kadachan company either. He lives just like you. You cannot assume I think like you.”
“Right,” he returned. “I assume you think like a woman.” He did not know why he liked to bait her. He just did. It amused him to see her rise to his challenges, just like—the thought brought him up short.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Not a thing, Mrs. Janssen.”
“I doubt that. I suppose I deserve some reprimand for getting us into trouble with the bear today. I said I was sorry. But I do not intend to eat Kadachan’s kill. Her cub was innocent! And he went out there and slaughtered her! How could you approve of such a thing?”
James sighed. “I keep telling you. You’re speaking of that bear cub as if she had been a human child. To leave her be would’ve meant she would’ve just died a slow, miserable death. She would have starved. Did you want to see that?”
“She could have foraged for berries and roots! Eventually, she would have been big enough to hunt game on her own.”
James rose and stared at the woman across the fire. Her expression wavered, as if she was unsure of herself under his gaze. “Mrs. Janssen. The cub was barely weaned. There are no berries yet, nor will there be for a couple of months. And without a mother to teach her, she would not have known how to hunt. I realize that you feel…guilty about all this. But honestly, we have to make the best of things. The bears’ death will help us live. If we are to make it over this river, locate your husband, and make it back, you’ll need to come to the same conclusion.”
Northern Lights Trilogy Page 68