Snow Angel

by Jamie Carie

  “Come on, Elizabeth,” Josh insisted, “Ben and I can easily lighten your load. No one else needs to know.”

  Elizabeth saw the understanding in his eyes and sighed. It was hard to admit defeat, but she needed to be smart, not stubborn. “Thank you, Josh. I hope to be able to repay your kindness.”

  Josh cocked his head to the side and grinned. “You already did on the steamer on the way over here. Ben may not know what you did, but I figured it out. We probably wouldn’t even be here now if it wasn’t for you.”

  The praise helped assuage her pride. Elizabeth handed him a piece of jerky and said with a half-grin, “I didn’t cook it, I promise.”

  While they ate in companionable silence, another group of travelers came into the little clearing. “Look,” Josh said pointing, “there’s another woman in that group.”

  Elizabeth smiled wryly and rolled her eyes. “You’d think we were an exotic animal the way you men go on when you see one of us.” She stood and dusted off her dull gray skirt as best she could. It didn’t take this new woman long to approach her. She was tall and sturdy-looking, but pretty with chestnut-brown hair and wide green eyes.

  “Hello.” She held out her hand briskly. “I’m Mary-Margaret Sinclair. You must be Elizabeth Smith.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Yes, I am. How did you know that?”

  Mary-Margaret shrugged. “There aren’t that many of us, women that is, so it isn’t too hard to hear about the others.” She frowned. “As a matter of fact, I heard there was a man looking for you. He was in Dyea asking questions.”

  Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat. “Really? What did he look like?” She tried to remain calm under the woman’s scrutiny, but Mary-Margaret was one of those commonsense types and hard to fool.

  Her sharp eyes narrowed. “I don’t know. I didn’t see him. My new husband”—she pointed at a good-looking, dark-haired man with a long, droopy mustache—“Pierre told me about it. I’ll ask him if you like.” Her mouth turned down and she murmured, “He’s certainly more of a gossip than I ever thought I’d see in a man.”

  Elizabeth didn’t know quite what to say to that, so she shrugged and smiled, feigning nonchalance. “Oh, no, don’t ask him. It’s probably no one I know.”

  Mary-Margaret put her hands on her hips and stared pointedly at her. “If you need some help, you let me know. We women have to stick together out here.” She eyed Elizabeth up and down. “You’re awfully small. What are your plans, anyway?”

  Elizabeth bristled. She was getting pretty tired of everyone commenting on her size. Brown eyes flashing, she responded, “I was raised on the gold fields and know what I’m doing. I’m going to get a claim and pan like the rest of you.”

  Mary-Margaret cocked her head to one side and grinned. “Just as long as you’re determined.”

  Elizabeth decided she might like her after all. Charlie whistled and she saw that her partners were gathering to leave. Turning to Mary-Margaret, she said, “I’ve got to go. It was good to meet you. I’ll probably see you in Sheep Camp.” Turning, she slung her considerably lighter load unto her back and brought up the rear of their group.

  The load on her back might have been lighter, but the load on her mind had grown much heavier. She hadn’t let herself think or worry about Ross following her. She’d reasoned that if he had been watching her, he would have been on the steamer with her. She had carefully checked every face and knew he wasn’t. He was on her trail, though, just a day or two behind. It wouldn’t take him long to catch up, and then what? Her steps faltered just thinking about what he might do to her. She couldn’t let her mind run on like this or she’d never make it. She needed a plan.

  Sheep Camp was a tent camp. White tents dotted the landscape like the patches of melting snow. It was tucked into a valley about a half mile wide with the Chilkoot Mountains looming in the background. The main street had the usual saloons, hotels, laundry services, and restaurants. The town had the same excited energy that Dyea had, but Elizabeth had lost her eagerness.

  She had the night watch between two and four. It really wasn’t necessary, but Charlie had insisted they keep up the habit. Elizabeth thought he was trying to keep the twins sober and out of the saloons. One was always assigned the ten-to-midnight shift and the other the midnight-to-two. They’d complained, but Charlie had given them a load of rubbish about how they were such good shots and it was the most dangerous time of night. Elizabeth knew that her shift was the most dangerous, with all the men staggering back to their tents in all displays of temper. She had borrowed a pair of pants and an old slouch hat to stuff her hair into, making her appear from a distance to be a man, or at least an older boy. William Cleary had turned out to be the hardest to convince of the need for her to wear pants. But Charlie and even Skookum had agreed that it was far wiser.

  But would it be enough to fool Ross? If he could locate Charlie’s party among the thousands of would-be prospectors, he might easily see through her disguise. She didn’t have a ready solution except to keep moving as fast as she could. Tomorrow they would leave for the pass. Charlie had said it was a thousand-foot incline that shot straight into the sky. It was close, within four miles of Sheep Camp, so they could be there in an hour or two. Now that she knew just how determined Ross was, she had to admit that eventually he would find her. She couldn’t keep running forever. Her only hope was that inspiration would come, that she would know somehow what to say and what to do when that moment came.

  In the meantime, she needed to get her hands on a good claim and some real gold. She imagined the shiny rocks in her hands. She’d heard men were finding up to four hundred dollars worth of gold in one pan. And it was all placer mining—panning—which she knew, which she could do alone. No one had yet found any hard-rock veins and so the big companies hadn’t come thus far. She thought they might, eventually, but for now the creek beds were oozing with the kind of gold that could be picked up off the ground, and she was going to be one of the lucky ones. If she could just get her hands on a fortune’s worth of gold, even a small fortune, everything would turn out all right. She knew it would.

  * * *

  NOAH WAS TIRED. He’d been in every saloon in Sheep Camp and hadn’t found a trace of Elizabeth. Everyone was tight-mouthed as clams. He didn’t know why or even how, but he suspected they were protecting her. While it irritated him that they wouldn’t trust him, he was also glad. If they weren’t telling him anything, then they weren’t telling Ross anything either. Ross Brandon—thanks to a fellow in Dyea, he finally had a name to go with the picture in his mind.

  Noah looked around him and couldn’t believe where he was. He’d never had the slightest desire to make this awful trek to the gold fields, and now just look at him. He was one of hundreds in a snake-like line that was climbing, heavily loaded with provisions, to the top of the Chilkoot Pass. It was a steep mountain, and if you wanted something at the top, you had to haul it there on your own back. Horses, mules, and dogsleds couldn’t make it, especially in the slippery snow-and-mud mixture of spring thaw.

  During the winter, some enterprising fellows had carved out a line of almost vertical steps in the hard-crusted snow, but now the bottom was a mess. Most had to carry a stick or pole to help maintain their footing and balance. Further up, where the air was colder and the ground still frozen, the makeshift stairs were in better shape. Midway, the men were jumping on the frozen stairs for the remainder of the trip to the top. A person was lucky to make three or four trips a day up and back, carrying sixty pounds of provisions, caching them at the top and then sliding back down for another trip. Noah had to hand it to Elizabeth—if she made it over this pass, she could do just about anything. It was his first trip up and his legs were burning, his lungs working hard. He didn’t envy the packers, men who made pennies a pound doing this job for others. Noah thought they earned every cent of it.

  When he finally made it to the top, he looked over the edge at the descent and groaned. It was steep and he was
n’t fond of heights. Grooves in the snow, tunnels almost, existed for the men to slide back down to the bottom. He turned from the sight and watched the others at the top while he caught his breath. They were busy caching their supplies in piles that they marked with sticks or stones or whatever else they could find. Noah had heard that anyone caught stealing from another’s cache was as good as dead. The miners held their own court, when needed, and stealing was the same as murder in these conditions.

  One young man planted his pile close to Noah’s feet and smiled lopsidedly at him. “Only thirty-four more trips to make. It’s a heck of a view though, isn’t it?”

  Noah looked into the man’s sparkling eyes and nodded, breathing deeply of the cool air. “This land will take a hold of you and never let go, if you’re not careful.”

  The young man grinned back and nodded. “I’m already under her spell. Maybe I’ll stick around after the gold rush.”

  Noah took off his pack and started stashing his goods near the young fellow’s. “How do you suppose you’ll like the ride down from here?”

  The man squinted into the sun and pointed. “I’ve been down a few times already. It’s a rough ride near the bottom, though, with the mix of snow and mud.”

  Noah grinned at the men sliding down the slope by way of the tunnels. One fellow slid down three-quarters of the mountain and then ran into a bare patch and came to a sudden stop. He was launched up and over the path, landing in a mess of slush. Noah watched with relief while the man got up, dusted himself off, and scurried out of the way of another coming down.

  The young man laughed with him and said, “Did you hear about the avalanche that happened here last month?”

  Noah shook his head. “What happened?”

  “Some say thirty feet of snow came crashing down the Chilkoot. Killed over seventy men.” He paused and shook his head. “Buried alive.”

  Noah slapped his thigh with his hat, shaking his head, and placed the hat back on his head. “It’s a hard trail. I don’t imagine most folks knew what they were getting into when they left the States to come up here.”

  “But you don’t feel that way, do you?” he asked. “You lived here awhile?”

  Noah smiled. He liked this young man. Holding out his hand he said, “Name’s Noah Wesley. I’m from Juneau. Lived in Alaska eleven years.” His eyes scanned the land, the view from atop a mountain pass—like the rest of Alaska—imposing. “I’ll tell you what I think of Alaska. It’s neither heaven nor hell, but it’ll make a man of you. It will test you and try you and tell you what you’re made of,” he shrugged. “And then when you think it has taken all you have, it will give you something back that more than makes up for it.” He clapped the youth on the shoulder. “Stick around, you’ll see what I mean.”

  The young man nodded, drinking in every word Noah said. “I will, Mr. Wesley. I will. The name’s Jack. Jack London. I plan to write about this place … and these people.”

  Noah nodded. “It’s a worthy subject. People will remember this event for a hundred years or more.”

  “I plan to see they do,” Jack said determinedly. He nodded once more to Noah and joined the line of men sliding down to the bottom.

  Turning back to his supplies, Noah lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. He had really hoped he would find Elizabeth by now and wouldn’t have to go into Canada. At the Canadian boarder sat the scales of the North West Mounted Police. No one would get into Canada without a year’s supply of provisions and equipment totaling about two thousand pounds. He had started out with less than half of what he needed and had reluctantly bought the other half in Sheep Camp. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to use it, but now he knew he would. If he could only borrow some of the gold fever surrounding him. To him the next thirty or so trips up this mountain were a precious waste of time and effort. He didn’t want to pan for gold in Dawson. He just wanted to find Elizabeth.

  * * *

  ELIZABETH’S LEGS WERE trembling to the point that she thought she would have to get out of line and rest. She’d done that once before, and it had taken her an hour to get back in. No one, not even a woman, got any breaks on the Chilkoot Pass. It was just too hard to make it yourself. There was nothing left inside a person to help another. So instead she lectured herself. It’s only a little further. Don’t look. Never look at how far it is to the top. She’d learned that lesson the first two times up. If she just kept her eyes on the man directly in front of her and mindlessly put one foot in front of the other, she could make it. She was only carrying forty pounds, as opposed to the men’s sixty, but still, it grew heavy and became increasingly hard to climb the icy steps. Her lungs felt ready to burst from the exertion.

  Their group had made a total of seventeen trips up the pass, cached their goods in designated piles, prayed it was too late in the spring for a sudden snowfall to cover their supplies, and slid back down to do it all over again. After this, the backbreaking work of panning would seem like child’s play. Charlie was helping her with her gear since he was staying on at Sheep Camp and hiring out as a packer. She had a new appreciation for the endurance an occupation such as his required and privately thought Charlie was crazy.

  * * *

  AFTER TWELVE DAYS and no sign of Elizabeth, Noah and his gear had reached the other side of the pass and had entered Canada. Here, the North West Mounted Police could be seen all along the road, ready to help the flood of gold-seekers to reach the creek beds around Dawson City. Noah was glad for their presence.

  Next up was nine miles of sloping land to Lake Lindeman, then a treeless, windy valley. It was quiet here. All that could be heard was the sound of heavily loaded sled runners skidding over the snow. A hush had descended on the group of men Noah was traveling with. He felt his sixth sense, the one refined from years of living in the wilderness, rise up and demand notice. His eyes scanned the area, but nothing … then in the distance he spied the prints of a bear. The beast was just out of hibernation and looking for food, no doubt. Noah wished him well. He had met up with a bear once and would never forget the fear and awe. He’d had his gun at the ready, but man and bear had only stared at each other, both surprised, both interested. Then the bear had sniffed the air and turned, wandering away, his backside swaying back and forth as if to say, “I’m not sure what you are, but you don’t smell good enough to eat.” Noah had chuckled silently.

  As they cleared the valley and the bear, his traveling companions became increasingly loud and excited. They had a destination and couldn’t wait to get there. Noah seemed to be the only man in these parts not suffering from gold fever. What he had was just as bad, though. In one sense, he was glad to witness and be part of such a grand event, history in the making. While he enjoyed the hiking and camping and living off this great land, he knew he was different from the others. He didn’t share their passion for gold. They were single-minded in their avarice, but that didn’t dim his respect for them. They had a code that they lived by and a flame of hope—a dream that, after meeting Elizabeth, he was beginning to understand.

  Upon reaching Lake Lindeman, Noah copied his fellow hikers and rigged up a sail on his sled. The waters of the lake were still frozen solid, enabling the heavy-laden sleds to glide across the hard surface. Ice boats, they called them. Rigging up a sail of sorts with a movable boom, one could steer and speed along with the aid of the strong winds whipping over the lake. After a short portage the prospectors would reach Lake Bennett and wait for it to thaw, if it hadn’t already. Lake Bennett fed into the mighty Yukon River, its very name meaning “great river.” There they would begin the 550-mile journey on the Yukon to Dawson City and the gold.

  It took five trips to haul his provisions to Lake Bennett, but Noah thought they were the easiest of the entire trip. Finally, three weeks from the time he had left Juneau, he was ready to make camp on the shores of Lake Bennett in what the miners called the boat-building camps.

  Everywhere, men were chopping down trees, whipsawing the woo
d with a long, large-toothed saw. Some had moved on to the next stage. Noah watched two men argue about the best way to nail the lumber together to form a boat. Noah casually scanned the crowd as he was accustomed to doing. Among the thousands of men in this place, a woman should be relatively easy to spot, he thought, so why was he having such trouble? Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw the swish of a skirt. Nodding to one of the men he had been walking with, he said, “I’m going check out the lumber over there.” The man nodded back, and Noah made his way to where he thought he’d seen the woman. His heart sped up as he rounded a semicircular camp and came upon a woman stirring something in a pot. She turned toward him and Noah’s face fell. It wasn’t Elizabeth.

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, too,” she said to him tartly. Tilting her head, she smiled at him and said, “You were hoping for someone else?”

  Noah slipped his hat off. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He fumbled for the words to explain his mission. The woman just kept staring at him in that odd, direct way, until he flushed.

  She held out a hand and said briskly, “The name’s Mary-Margaret Sinclair.”

  He cleared his throat. “Noah Wesley.”

  “Are you a miner?”

  “No, I mean, sort of. Heading to Dawson City like everyone else.”

  She looked around and smiled. “If you’re looking for lumber to build a raft, good luck. I think these boys have chopped down just about every tree for ten miles.” She pointed to a hodgepodge pile of wood that resembled firewood and said with disdain, “That’s all my husband has been able to round up. After supper, I’m planning to go and saw my own wood. We would sink within a mile on those sticks.”

  Noah nodded, agreeing with her, looking around the clearing. He’d never seen so many different types of homemade boats in all his life. Some looked like big wooden boxes; others were supposed to resemble canoes; most were just pine logs roped together to form rickety rafts. If folks made it through the rapids on those things, it would be a miracle. He remembered someone calling them “floating coffins.”