Snow Angel

by Jamie Carie

  As he left, Elizabeth went back over to the fire and stared at the food. She idly hoped it would jump up and cook itself and then laughed at herself for thinking such a thing. Charlie had placed an iron spit with a large black kettle hanging from it over the fire. William brought her the water. She poured some in the kettle and added the beans and the corn. They would just have to share. The potatoes she shoved under the nearest glowing log and then she looked dubiously at the meat. Walking around, she found a stick with a good point on it. Turning her head and batting her eyes quickly, she stabbed the fish with the stick until they were impaled on the end. How did women do this every day? The one job Margaret insisted on doing herself had been the cooking. She wouldn’t let Elizabeth near the food stores, hoarding the supplies like a tight-fisted miser.

  The smoked pork was already cooked, but she supposed she should do something with it, since Mr. Cleary had given it to her. Shrugging, she tore the bark from the other end of the stick and stabbed the pork on that end. Then she balanced the stick across the pot. Finally, with everything cooking she turned to the flour. She added water until it was sticky and then added some sugar from her small stash. Anything with sugar in it would have to be good, she reasoned. After all the “cooking” Elizabeth no longer had an appetite.

  The men started prowling around like hungry bears half an hour later.

  Skookum was the first one to comment. “You have ruined my food. You cook them unclean. I will eat yours.”

  He looked at her so accusingly, Elizabeth wanted to cry, but she dared not. Instead she got mad. “Well, you should have cleaned them before you gave them to me. I don’t take the guts out of fish. And since I didn’t fix anything for myself, I guess you’ll go hungry.”

  “Other women do this. Why do you not do this?”

  His face was so stern she was almost afraid to answer. “It’s … it’s disgusting. Besides, you still have the corn. It’s in the pot with Charlie’s beans. I only had the one pot so you’ll both have to share.”

  Charlie looked like he might choke but said nothing. Elizabeth tried to retrieve the potatoes from the fire, but she couldn’t find them at first. Finally, she spied two round black things and rolled them out with a stick. She looked apologetically at the twins. “Just scrape off the black,” she said irritably when they stared at her wide-eyed. They chewed on their jerky instead and remained silent.

  The preacher pried his pork off the spit, burned on the side closest to the fire, and looked hopefully into the skillet tilting precariously on a log. Elizabeth looked at the bread in the skillet and sighed with relief. At least one thing had turned out. Using her skirt, she gripped the handle of the skillet and pulled it off the fire. The large white pancake was lightly brown on either side and looked wonderful. It even smelled good. Taking her pocketknife out of her pocket, the one she had stolen from Noah, she attempted to cut it like a pie. She grimaced. It was a little harder than it looked. With determination she tried again until there were four big pieces broken off. Stony faced, she passed out the bread and watched while Charlie, the twins, and William Cleary tried to chew.

  It was too much. With tears rising to her eyes, she fled down the hill and into the edge of Dyea. The last thing she heard was Charlie saying, “Well, boys, can any of you cook?”

  * * *

  February 2, 1891

  Dear Mrs. Rhodes,

  I have placed advertisements in newspapers across the larger cities of the east and midwest. The letters I have received in response have been colorful to say the least. Twenty thousand dollars is bound to bring a varied response, but I am sad to report that no one knows the last name Greyson. It is possible that the orphanages renamed Elizabeth, which has led me to consider some of the letters of inquiry and investigate their claims. Upon arriving at one town I discovered five Elizabeths, three in the same family as with each of my rejections, they brought out another. I regret that, thus far, I have only discovered charlatans. As I mentioned previously, this tactic may work, but we, dear lady, shall have to wade through fields of chaff before finding our sought-after kernel of wheat.

  My own stepson, Clyde, has decided he must learn to drive the automobile, a contraption that his employer, the town banker, recently acquired. Please pray my limbs remain intact as he hasn’t mastered the sense of staying on his side of the street.

  I remain your devoted servant.

  Sincerely yours,

  Jeremiah Hoglesby

  Private Detective for Hire

  Fourteen

  Ross Brandon glared out the window of the bakery. She’d tricked him. He should have known she wouldn’t show up. After a few carefully posed questions, he learned she had disappeared two nights ago. His head pounded. Rage flowed through his body in a pulsing throb that he felt in his temple. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to smash the shop’s only window with his elegantly gloved hand. He wanted to put those black gloves against the creamy skin of her throat and squeeze. He calmed himself by imagining it. Composing his features, Ross turned and asked the stout woman behind the counter, “Madam, you said she worked at the trading post? Was she very close to the owners?”

  The woman’s round face lit up. “Oh, yes. She was like a daughter to them.” She frowned distractedly. “Or maybe a younger sister. Will and Cara are young folks themselves.” She cocked her head. “Though Will may be in his late thirties by now. But in any case, they were very close.”

  “You have no idea why she might have left?” He paused and added silkily, “Or where she might have gone?”

  The woman just shook her head. “I’m sorry, young man. I don’t have any idea … Wait a minute …” She gazed at the far wall for a moment. “She did have another close friend, Noah Wesley. He’s the fellow that brought her here. Lives out of town, on the mountain. One of the first here, I believe.” She smiled. “I thought there might be a romance going on between them, but I don’t know now. It seems not.”

  Ross clenched his hands into fists and tried to conceal his impatience. “Would she have gone to this Wesley’s place? Do you know where it is?”

  She pursed her lips and shook her head until her brown curls bounced. “I don’t know exactly where his place is, but Will Collins would know. You go on over to the post, dear, they can answer all your questions over there.”

  “Thank you, I will.” Ross turned to go. He would find Elizabeth Greyson and when he did she would pay dearly for this deception. No one had ever stood in the way of what he wanted, and a little slip of a woman, no matter how delectable, wasn’t going to be the first. He would have his revenge and it would be sweet enough to make up for this trip into frozen hell. The knowledge he had of her real mother, Jane Greyson, searching for her long lost daughter sent thrills of excitement through him. Right before he watched the light of life die in her eyes, she would know who she really was, her real name, and how she’d never live to see the loving arms of her true family.

  * * *

  IT WAS GOOD to finally be underway. After questioning the bartender at the saloon where Elizabeth was last seen, Noah was sure she had been aboard The Stars and Stripes and was now in Skagway or Dyea. How she’d convinced old Charlie McKay to take her with him, he would like to know, but at least she wasn’t alone. He knew of Charlie’s reputation and thought he would do well to watch over her.

  Noah’s gaze passed over the new sawmills along the banks as they steamed by and casually remarked to the boat’s owner, Mr. Kawatuk, with a nod toward the bank, “That would be a good business to be in right now.”

  The Indian grinned, showing big teeth, and nodded at his boat. “This is pretty good business now, too.”

  Noah agreed. If he could get a message back to Will, he just might build a sawmill himself, closer to the diggings. He would rather make his money with a mill or some such enterprise. Panning seemed a hard, monotonous way to earn a dollar. He knew fortune hunters stood a better chance of making money from supplying the gold towns with goods and services tha
n actually mining for gold. But speculating had its risks. He would have to check out the area when he got there. Gold rushes had short lives and those who got there first usually won the prize.

  “We stop at Skagway first?” Mr. Kawatuk asked, interrupting Noah’s reverie.

  “Yes, but we may have to go on to Dyea. I’ll scout around the town and then come back to let you know. You wait for me, OK?”

  “Sure, I’ll wait.”

  The man had been pleasant and quiet during the trip, and Noah was glad. He was in no mood for idle conversation.

  As Skagway came into view, Mr. Kawatuk steered the craft as close as he could to the shore. A small canoe paddled out and a boatman asked if they would like to pay for passage over to the docks. Noah accepted and the boatman settled in to wait.

  The pier was quiet today, with only a few people milling around, but Noah could hear the commotion coming from the town. His boots rang out on the wooden planks of the dock.

  A citified looking fellow walked up to him and said, “Mister, you just crossed a toll dock. That’ll be fifty cents.”

  Noah looked at the man as if he’d lost his mind. “A toll dock? You must be kidding me.”

  “Nope. Soapy Smith, maybe you’ve heard of him, he owns this dock. He built it himself and expects people to pay for the use of it.”

  “I’ve heard of him. You tell Mr. Smith that if he wants his fifty cents, he can come looking for me. Docks are public property in my book.”

  The man’s face turned red but he didn’t say anything, just watched with sullen eyes as Noah walked away from him.

  The town was nestled in a forested valley, with bluish-purple mountains shooting up above the tree line, the snow-filled crevices tracing white lines on the face of the rock. Things were turning muddy at ground level though. The streets were filled with a mixture of snow and ice and mud, forming ruts so deep a cart could hardly navigate the length of it. Noah watched in amazement as a team of four horses slid and skidded their way down the crowded thoroughfare.

  He stopped and took his hat off, running his fingers through his hair, and studying the town, he sighed. He hardly knew where to begin the search, but one of the best places to hear gossip was in a saloon, and there must be over thirty saloons just along the main road. Noah lost count.

  Replacing his hat, Noah started for the nearest saloon. Loud music and an awful smell hit him in the face as he walked in. Noah had a fleeting desire to cover his nose with his shirt as the combined odors of unwashed men and filthy back alleys greeted him. Instead, he stepped up to the long mahogany counter. The place was well outfitted, with a huge mirror behind the bar. Tall cabinets with fancy beveled glass doors held rows of amber and dark-colored liquor. The stool he sat on was upholstered and there was even an iron footrest that ran the length of the bar. The bartender walked up looking pristine in his black suit coat, white shirt, and black string tie.

  “What’ll you be having, sir?” he asked politely.

  Noah said, “I’m looking for someone who came over on The Stars and the Stripes about three days ago. A woman. You know of anyone aboard that ship?”

  The man shook his head sternly. “I don’t ask, and they don’t tell me. I just serve drinks.”

  Noah could tell this man wasn’t going to help even if he could and wondered if this was one of Soapy Smith’s establishments. Outsiders weren’t allowed to ask questions in that organization.

  After four more saloons had given him a similar response, Noah was beginning to feel genuine despair. He decided to take a different tack and question the patrons of the saloons instead of the employees. At the fifth saloon, he finally found a man who had been aboard the steamer and was well enough into his bottle to talk.

  “Sure, I remember the lady. She was a pretty thing. I heard she was joined up with a party of Charlie McKay’s, but I just remember seeing her with this set of twins. You don’t see twins much, so they sorta stood out.”

  “Did they get off here or go on to Dyea?”

  The man’s glazed eyes dazed off into the distance as if concentrating on the question. “Not sure, mister. But I didn’t see them get off here, and I haven’t seen them since. I’d guess they went on ahead.” He looked around the room and then whispered, “You haven’t got a dollar you could spare, for the exchange of my information, so I could get some supper, would you?”

  Noah dug in his pocket and handed the man a couple of bills. “Don’t spend it all on liquor,” he advised. “Thanks for the answers.”

  The man smiled wide at him. “Thank you, mister. Oh, I almost forgot. Somebody else was here yesterday asking about the same woman. Black hair, mustache. He seemed in a big hurry to find her, just like you.”

  A day ahead of him. Noah nearly ran to the waiting boat. Dear God, let her still be in Dyea and let me find her first.

  It was almost dark when they arrived in Dyea. The sun was out longer now that it was spring, but it was still a long way from the twenty hours of daylight that graced their summer days. Noah didn’t waste any time sightseeing in the stump-filled flatland of Dyea. The town had the same temporary, thrown-up-in-a-day kind of feeling that Skagway had, only it was a bit smaller. And like Skagway, it was full of men. Noah scouted around and finally found someone willing, for a price, to talk about Elizabeth and then take him to the place where she had camped. One thing was becoming very clear: it was relatively easy to track a pretty woman on a trail full of men. She didn’t go unnoticed. The only problem was, if it was this easy for Noah to track her, it would be this easy for the man she appeared to be running from.

  After searching the slope, Noah was satisfied she’d gone on with her group toward Dyea Canyon, then onto Sheep Camp. He went back to the little steamer for his provisions and then made a hasty camp on the outskirts of the town. Had she slept in this spot only nights ago? Was she really on this trail, about to tackle the Chilkoot Pass? She was headstrong and stubborn enough to try it, but he worried that she lacked the stamina. It would be hard on her. He would sleep a few hours and then follow. He hoped to catch up within two days if he pushed hard. Alone, he thought he could manage it.

  * * *

  June 1, 1893

  Dear Mrs. Rhodes,

  I regret that I have no further leads on your daughter. The letters of inquiry have dwindled to a trickle. I have expanded the reward notices to all the orphanages and schools in several surrounding states, concentrating on the East Coast. I would greatly appreciate any further direction. Your lack of response since the instructions as to the reward has me faintly worried that you’ve given up hope, dear ma’am, though your payments are prompt and appreciated. Please advise as to any further action.

  I remain your devoted servant.

  Sincerely yours,

  Jeremiah Hoglesby

  Private Detective for Hire

  Fifteen

  The first few miles of the trail from Dyea had been on a wagon road through the forest and deceptively easy. The six in the party were each loaded down with supplies, as were the three packhorses—one led by Charlie, one with a twin, and the third led by Skookum. Elizabeth was packing equal shares as the men. Her lower back ached and her legs trembled with fatigue, but she was determined they wouldn’t know it.

  By midmorning they reached the Dyea Canyon. It was about two miles long and only wide enough to travel single file, hugging the cliff wall. Some places were almost completely blocked by trees, outcrops of roots, and boulders, which they scrambled and slipped their way through until the two miles seemed like an eternity. Sticks and brambles grabbed at Elizabeth’s skirts until they were torn and ragged. Her old half-boots felt as thin as paper; she was sure they would fall to pieces around her stockinged feet at any moment. It was long past noon before they made it to the other side.

  After the canyon, they plodded through a narrow trail, two steep mountains on either side. Elizabeth could look up and see a small patch of blue sky between the peaks. She took a deep breath of the clean, cool air, thin
king that Alaska was a land full of hidden treasure, continually awing her with its rugged beauty. It sure did challenge her strength though. She hadn’t stretched the limits of her body this hard since the blizzard. Alaska was like a living, breathing force that was out to see what kind of mettle a person was made of. Elizabeth was determined to beat it or, more wisely, somehow make peace with it.

  Finally, Charlie called a halt and Elizabeth sank thankfully down to the ground, throwing off the bedroll. Closing her eyes for a moment, she let her body go lax.

  “Better hurry and eat, Elizabeth,” Josh said anxiously. “Charlie says we aren’t stopping long. He wants to get to Sheep Camp before nightfall.”

  Elizabeth roused herself into a sitting position. “I will. Thank you, Josh.”

  Josh hunkered down next to her. “Ben and I could take some of your load for you, Elizabeth. Pardon me for saying it, but you’re too small to be packing all that. Charlie must be a fool if he thinks you can pack as much as the rest of us.”

  Elizabeth smiled tiredly at Josh. “Charlie didn’t insist I pack all of this. I did.” After the cooking disaster Elizabeth was determined to prove her worth.