Forget-Me-Not Bride

by Margaret Pemberton

  ‘So perhaps, now ye know the truth of it, ye’ll not want to be spending the night alone with me,’ he said, his voice raw.

  She shook her head, lights dancing in the soft upsweep of her hair. ‘No. You’re wrong. What you’ve just told me doesn’t change anything about the way I feel about our … our friendship. I always knew you could never have killed anyone intentionally and I’m not shocked at your inability to feel remorse. I just think you’re being very truthful. Far more truthful than most people would be.’

  He made his Scottish noise again in his throat, so vastly relieved by her reaction he couldn’t speak.

  Neither could she. The room was thick again with their silence.

  ‘About tomorrow …’ he began awkwardly, wanting with every fibre of his being to somehow delay her departure, to perhaps deter her from leaving Dawson at all.

  ‘I’ll leave on the morning steamer,’ she said swiftly, not wanting to cause him the embarrassment of being encumbered with a wife he had no desire to set up home with. She squeezed her hand into fists, her nails digging deep into her palms, not wanting to think of Leo and Lottie’s reactions when she told them they were returning immediately to Whitehorse.

  ‘Aye …’ His despair was so deep he wondered if he was ever going to surface from it. It was understandable, of course, that she wanted to shake the dust of Dawson off her heels at the earliest opportunity. Hadn’t he, knowing how she would feel, suggested she do so? And he had done so in order that she wouldn’t have to suffer remaining in close proximity to the man who had so sorely let her down; the man she had believed was going to pay off Josh Nelson and marry her; the man who, by his own admision, had only wanted her as an employee.

  His jaw tightened. How must she have felt when he, and not Lucky Jack, had made the bid that had saved her from marriage with a total stranger? How must she feel now, closeted in the intimacy of a bedroom with him? ‘If ye dinna mind I’ll think take advantage of the bath that’s waiting,’ he said, unable to bear the fierce frustration of being so near to her and not being able to reach out and touch her; to take her in his arms; to make love to her with all his heart and all his soul.

  She was relieved. He could tell. Savagely wishing the bath waiting for him was an ice-cold one he turned mutely on his heel and entered the bathroom, pushing the door closed behind him.

  Lilli shut her eyes, squeezing them tight against the tears that threatened to fall. Dear Lord in heaven, how had she come to be in such an agonizing situation? An image of spilt milk flashed into her brain and she made a small sound, half hysterical laughter, half sob. It had been Lottie’s spilt glass of milk that had triggered off the row with her uncle which had culminated in him demanding she leave his house for good. And then she had seen the newspaper article about Harriet Berton and her husband. And she had emulated Harriet Berton and stepped over the threshold of the Peabody Marriage Bureau.

  She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. In many ways she didn’t regret that step at all. It had led to her meeting Susan and Kate and Edie and Marietta and making friends she knew would be her friends for life. It had also led her to Alaska and the Yukon Valley and the scenery she had seen from the Casca’s decks, blue hills rolling on towards the rim of the world and small creeks gurgling and bubbling down into the mighty river, were images that would stay with her forever.

  If only she hadn’t become so air-headedly besotted with Lucky Jack! If only Ringan had never seen her in such an intimate embrace with Lucky Jack! Then, perhaps, she would have realised the enormity of her feelings for Ringan much, much earlier. She would have sought out his company, as Lottie had done. And if she had done so perhaps he would have come to love her, instead of merely feeling compassion for her.

  With heavy limbs she swung her legs from the bed. If she was to wash and clamber into her nightdress, then now was the time for her to do so.

  The bathroom door hadn’t quite shut and there were sounds of vigorous splashing. Presumably he was rinsing soap from his back. Trying hard not to think of how magnificent a sight his naked back would be she poured water from the washing jug into the bowl. Then, certain that he wouldn’t re-enter the bedroom without first verifying she was decently clothed, she removed the cameo from the neck of her blouse and undid the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons at her wrists.

  Once in her shift and bloomers she washed as adequately as she was able. The cold water revived her and her despair began to lift as her innate optimism re-asserted itself. She was married to Ringan. He had generously promised to open a bank account for her wherever she chose to settle. That meant that he would be remaining in touch with her. And that meant that there was at least hope that their relationship would change in character. They were, after all, already friends. That had been determined during the hours they had spent together at the Indian camp. And, given time and proper encouragement, friendship could lead to love.

  As the sounds of splashing and wallowing continued she drew her nightdress from her travelling-bag and slid it over her head, then she removed her shift and bloomers. High-necked and long-sleeved and made of serviceable cambric, it wasn’t the garment she would have chosen to wear on her wedding night. But then, she reminded herself, this wasn’t her wedding night in the true sense of the word.

  Bare-footed, she padded across to the bed and picked up her posy of forget-me-nots. He had picked them himself and he had chosen them because they matched the colour of her eyes. With hope coursing strongly though her veins she detached a tiny spray from the posy. She would press it in her New Testament. She would keep it for ever and ever.

  The splashing abruptly ceased. There was a long moment’s silence. His travel-bag was still near the door where the bell-boy had presumably deposited it. She wondered what he would be wearing when he emerged. Had he taken his night-shirt into the bathroom with him? And if not, would he dress again in full Highland regalia, even though it would mean his having to sleep in it?

  The bathroom door opened a little hesitantly. ‘Ye’ll excuse me,’ he said, a slow, fierce blush burning its way up from his throat, ‘but I forgot to take my nightshirt with me.’

  She was exceedingly glad he had done so. With only a white bath towel draped around his hips he looked even more wonderful than he had done in his kilt. His thick thatch of curly hair dripped water, the red transmuted a dark, rich mahogany. His powerful shoulders looked even broader naked than they had clothed. Gleaming wet, reddish-gold fuzz dusted his chest and his strong, well-shaped calves.

  Grabbing his nightshirt from his bag he strode swiftly back into the privacy of the bathroom. She was aware of a quite shocking feeling of disappointment.

  She climbed into the big, high bed. The chair looked very, very small and uncomfortable. Dare she suggest to him that he shared the bed with her? At the mere thought her cheeks burned even brighter than his had when he had emerged semi-naked from the bathroom. No, she could not. He would remember seeing her in Lucky Jack’s embrace aboard the Senator and he would think her shameless. And if he thought her shameless he would never come to love her.

  She pulled the bed-covers high above her cambric-covered breasts. How could she possibly have thought Lucky Jack was the be-all and the end-all of her world? He was a charmer, a likeable charmer, and that was all. And because of him she had probably lost all hope of Ringan ever regarding her with respect.

  ‘I’ll turn the lamps out,’ he said, emerging from the bathroom once again, his nightshirt open at the throat to reveal the strong tendons in his neck, his hair still tumbled and damp.

  She nodded assent. Even without the lamps a rosy light still pervaded the room, for the Northern night sky was flushed with apricot.

  He extinguished the lamps and through the window, against the deep, dark gold of the sky, the mountain that reared over Dawson could be seen, the gash in its flank showing a ghostly white.

  Her stomach muscles tightened. It was going to be so hard to leave in the morning. Not only because she would be leaving Ringan b
ehind and because she didn’t know how she was going to persuade him to meet with her again, but because she would be leaving all the beauty of the Yukon Valley behind her also. She thought of the colourful Indian encampments and of caribou wading against the river’s current and bears fishing with their giant paws, and her heart physically hurt her. All her life she had led a nomadic existence, moving first from Ireland to America and then, once in America, from Wyoming to Colorado to Montana to San Francisco. And now, when she had at last found the place where she felt truly at home, she was going to leave it, probably for ever.

  ‘You need a blanket,’ she said, her voice brusque as she fought to control her distress. Without waiting for him to say that he did, or did not, she swung her legs from the bed and stood up, gathering the top blanket in her arms and walking towards him with it.

  ‘Thank ye.’ He couldn’t have said another word if he’d been paid a thousand dollars to do so. As she crossed the room to him the window was behind her and against the golden light the outline of her body showed with breathtaking clarity. He could see the high fullness of her breasts and the dark aureoles of her nipples; the narrowness of her waist, the soft, gentle roundness of her hips.

  Blissfully unaware, Lilli handed him the blanket. She slowly made her way back to the lonely bed.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said when she was once again demurely beneath the covers, ‘about your childhood. Where did you and Patti live? What games did you play? Where did you go to school?’

  Deeply thankful of the blanket that so mercifully hid the physical effect she had had on him, he said in a strained voice, ‘We were both born and brought up at Dalhaiveg House, a turreted monstrosity my grandfather built for himself in the 1860’s.’ With difficulty he forced his voice back to normality. ‘It’s buried away deep in the heart of Skye. It’s a verra beautiful and verra lonely, which is perhaps why so much of the Yukon countryside reminds me of it.’

  He told her of how his grandfather had taught both himself and Patti to fish for salmon in the Strath. How, as little more than toddlers, he had taken them high up the slopes of Sgurr Alasdair. And then he had realised that she was asleep, her arms curled around her pillow, her eyelashes soft against her cheek.

  It wasn’t surprising. It had been a long, long day. A day so emotionally charged and nervously exhausting it was a wonder she hadn’t fallen asleep hours and hours ago. He wondered if he would be able to sleep and doubted it. He had too much to brood over; too much fierce disappointment to try and come to terms with.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When she woke a few hours later he was already dressed, not in his kilt and wonderful balloon-sleeved shirt, but in his serviceable green plaid shirt and breeches and boots.

  ‘There’s some coffee,’ he said, indicating a silver breakfast tray. ‘I thought I’d go and collect Leo and Lottie and then ye can have a bath if ye want to. The maids will fill it in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’ She knew she sounded stilted but she couldn’t help it. What else could she say to him? That she didn’t want him to go for Leo and Lottie? That she didn’t want to leave on the eight-o-clock boat? That she wanted him to have breakfast with her here, in their room?

  Reluctantly she heaved herself from the bed and rang the service bell. She would have a bath. As long a bath and as hot a bath as possible, for there was no telling how long it might be before she would next be able to have one. And she wouldn’t cry. Not until she was safely aboard the steamer. And then, she knew, she would cry as if her heart would break.

  ‘Leaving?’ Lottie stared at Ringan in incredulity. ‘But why? I thought we were all going to live in Dawson together! I thought we were going to be a family together!’

  ‘It’s nae that easy, Lottie,’ Ringan said, wondering if this moment wasn’t going to prove to be the hardest moment of all. ‘Your sister needs to get away from Dawson and she needs to do so as soon as possible.’

  ‘But why’ Lottie demanded wildly. ‘I thought everything was going to be perfect now! I thought …’

  ‘Because I’ve told her to,’ he said gently, totally unable to explain to her that as Lilli wasn’t in love with him she couldn’t possibly live in the intimacy of marriage with him. Lottie was only ten years old, for the Lord’s sake! She’d had enough to contend with already without his burdening her with facts of life she was too young to fully understand.

  ‘Oh!’ she stared at him, her world falling apart. If Lilli was leaving Dawson because Ringan had told her she must do so, it meant only one thing. It meant that though Ringan had rescued Lilli from marriage with a stranger, he didn’t want her for a real wife. He didn’t love Lilli as she had hoped and prayed he loved her. They weren’t going to be a family together. They weren’t all going to live together happily ever after.

  ‘I think we’d better pack your gold ribbons and sash into your travel-bag,’ Marietta said slowly, feeling almost as sledge-hammered as Lilli and just as bewildered.

  Leo looked around at their shocked, distressed faces. ‘Are we leaving? Really leaving? Won’t I see my magic lady ever again?’

  No-one could bear to answer him. All of them had thought that when they had left the Phoenix the worst was behind them. Now they all knew that the worst was yet to come.

  She was dressed and waiting for him when he returned to their hotel room. The lace shirtwaist and blue skirt that had served as her bridal gown were carefully packed in her travel-bag. She would never think of them as being ordinary day wear ever again. ‘Where are Leo and Lottie?’ she asked, her voice sounding as if she were going down with a cold.

  She was wearing her caramel coloured shirtwaist and a toffee coloured skirt, the rich warm colours emphasising the blue of her eyes and near-jet darkness of her upswept hair.

  She was so beautiful, and Ringan’s pain at the thought of so soon saying goodbye to her was so intense, that when he answered her his voice sounded as odd as hers.

  ‘With Marietta. They’re … distressed. Marietta is going to bring them down to the wharf and meet us there.’

  She was aware of a feeling of vast relief. They would at least have a little more time together alone. For a little longer she could pretend they were embarking on a life together just as Susan and Mr Jenkinson were, and Lettie and Will, and Kate and Perry.

  He picked up her shabby carpet-bag, and opened the room door. They were going. And though he would be returning, she would not.

  Outside the Fairview, Front Street was as busy and noisy as it had been the previous evening. Lilli wondered if it was ever quiet.

  They began to walk in the direction of the river, their feet tom-tomming on the hollow boardwalk.

  ‘What will you do?’ she asked, wanting, when they were apart, to be able to imagine his daily routine. ‘Will you practise medicine in Dawson?’

  Beneath his bushy auburn moustache his lips twisted in a wry smile. ‘Not quite.’

  She waited, accustomed now to the little silences that peppered his speech, sensing they occurred only when he was speaking of things that mattered deeply to him.

  ‘It would be difficult,’ he said at last. ‘Gossip about my conviction is soon going to spread and I don’t see why anyone should trust a doctor who has been convicted of murder, do you?’

  They were in sight of the river now. The morning sun glittered on the turbulent grey surface of the water and the purple-hazed hills beyond.

  ‘But I am going to practise my profession,’ he said, and the passionate intensity in his voice went through her like an electric charge. ‘And I’m going to practise it where it is most needed. I’m going to practise it amongst the Indians.’

  She stumbled and, if he hadn’t shot out a hand to steady her, would have fallen.

  ‘Do ye find that surprising?’ he asked, knowing how different such a life would be from the life Lucky Jack and his kind led.

  ‘Yes. No.’ How could she say what was in her heart? That she, too, wanted to work with, and help, the Ind
ians? That if he loved her they could do so together? As she thought of what might have been it was like seeing a glimpse of paradise. And she was being denied that paradise; she was being cast out into an outer darkness of loneliness and loss.

  They were at the wharf now. Steam was rising from the Casca’s funnels as, nearly empty of passengers, she prepared to make the journey up-river, back to Whitehorse. Other steamers and scows, crammed to the gunnels with men and supplies, were facing down-river, about to depart for the long haul to the Yukon’s mouth and Nome.

  As they stepped onto the dock Lettie hurried to greet them. ‘Where on earth are you going?’ she asked bewilderedly, the happiness that had been sparkling in her eyes vanishing at the sight of Lilli’s pale, taut face and the familiar travel-bag Ringan was carrying.

  ‘Whitehorse.’ Lilli didn’t trust herself to say anymore. If she did, she might lose her hard fought-for composure entirely.

  Lettie stared at her in dismayed disbelief, her radiance ebbing entirely.

  Will had joined them and as he saw the expression on her face he said in concern’ ‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’

  Unable to tell him she put a hand reassuringly on his arm. The gesture was so loving and so intimate that Lilli’s throat almost closed entirely. Twenty-four hours ago Lettie and Will hadn’t even met. Now they were man and wife; as deeply bonded as if they had loved each other for years.

  ‘Are you leaving for Nome now?’ Lilli asked, striving for an appearance of normality.