Golden Torment

by Janelle Taylor

  “You’re most talented in the kitchen, kind sir. You’ll make someone a nice wife,” she teased him when he stole a kiss from her neck.

  “We do make a great team, don’t we?” he murmured against her ear.

  “I was going to say the same thing, but was afraid you might take it the wrong way. I do hope you won’t pounce on every innocent word I say.”

  Landis nearly said, don’t be afraid to say anything you wish, but held himself back. “Smelling good in here, woman,” he stated instead.

  She intuitively knew what had taken place within his mind. “Why not sit down while I finish everything?” she cheerfully invited, feeling very much at ease as he mellowed before her.

  He sat down, but pulled her into his lap and nuzzled her ear.

  “Stop that, Landis Jurrell; or I’ll not be responsible for a burned meal.”

  “Relax, Kat; everything’s cooking just fine.” He kissed her pervasively, running his hands up and down her back and arms.

  “If I relax, I might forget all about cooking. You do have a way of mesmerizing me when it suits your purpose.”

  “Do I indeed?” he asked.

  “You’re most disarming and persuasive. I should take lessons from you.”

  “I thought you were,” he crooned softly, a roguish grin capturing his face and pulling at her madly racing heart.

  “If it’s games you want to play, then I’ll join in,” she threatened, greedily devouring his mouth as she relented to his entreating arms.

  When he leaned back against the tall chair, her head rested upon his shoulder. Their eyes fused and locked, sending passionate messages to the other. “It isn’t a game anymore, Kat; is it?”

  “How is it possible to want you so much it frightens me? Being with you is blissful agony. It’s good and bad. Desire is a splendid appetite when it can be fed, but pure agony when it’s hungry.”

  He leaned over to nibble on her ear, whispering, “The biscuits are probably burning.” He needed to halt this serious talk.

  She raced to the oven, yanking open the door without the thick pad. She screamed and jerked away her hand. Landis came over and seized it, scanning the injured area. She laughed. “Now I’m burning, too.”

  His gaze met hers as he beguilingly taunted, “In more than your hand?”

  “You! You’re impossible.” She retrieved the pad and removed the perfectly browned biscuits. “See, I’m a good cook after all.”

  He reached for a jar of salve and rubbed it on the small burn. Both recalling their first meeting, their gazes fused. Reading the other’s thought, they shared laughter. She thanked him and served their first meal together.

  They chatted on safe topics as they ate. As they sipped one last cup of coffee, Kathy propped her elbows on the table and entreated, “Landis, why is there so much hostility between the Americans and your people? I can understand their resentment of so many men pouring into this territory to take advantage of the gold strike, but there’s more to it. There’s been trouble between America and Canada before, hasn’t there?”

  He looked over at her expectant face. “You don’t resent my being American, you you?” she inquired, looking serious.

  “Of course not. It’s no secret there’ve been problems between your country and mine since the war of 1776. We are still part of the British empire,” he reminded her. “I guess old wounds are hard to heal when fresh ones are frequently added.”

  “How so?” she asked, her full attention upon him.

  “Animosities cropped up long before your Civil War. But during that war, Canada allowed slaves and soldiers to seek sanctuary here, which angered the Americans. You know why Russia sold Alaska to your country, don’t you?”

  “Not really. I know it’s been a big joke to Mr. Seward.”

  “The Old Bear was hoping to build the States up as a counter-power to Britain’s. Your country feared annoying the Russians and losing their friendship and support, so they accepted the deal. From what I’ve heard, the Russians lined many a pocket to help that deal go through. Another point, it would make one less power at America’s back.”

  “But why would America relent to such pressure and double-dealing?” Kathy inquired with an innocence which warmed his heart.

  “Power struggles. Self-defense. One less threat too close. It’s no secret America hopes to entice Canada into her fold. That would make for a mighty large and powerful continent. Have you ever heard of James Blaine?” When she nodded yes, he went on, “Blaine said back in ’91 that he expected Canada to seek admission to the American union. Britain didn’t care for such statements. Then, there was all that mess about fishing rights a few years ago.”

  “I don’t recall hearing anything about that.”

  “You should have; our countries almost went to war over it.”

  She looked stunned. “To war over fishing rights?”

  “There was a big clash about ’85 and America terminated a fishing treaty, and began fishing anywhere she chose in our waters. Canada felt compelled to confiscate those American fishing vessels. They finally worked out that disagreement, but another one came up near here. It started with the seal fisheries around the Bering Sea, somewhere between ’86 and ’90. There were rumors British warships were patroling the area. War talk got mighty common then. They finally signed another treaty in ’92; and your country came out the financial loser, which still rankles the Americans. Things are stirring up again off the Alaska coast. Hopefully cool heads will win out.”

  “Is that all?” she pressed.

  “Nope. There’s the dispute between the Hudson Bay Company which is Canadian and the American Alaska Commercial Company. They’ve got some sticky competition going. The Bay Company has been in these parts for ages. They don’t have the monopoly anymore, so they’re trying hard to hold their own. The competition doesn’t see eye to eye with some of their restrictions and policies. They don’t hold to taking pelts and furs during the breeding season. That could wipe out a whole species. But it’s hard to convince the private trappers and rival companies this would hurt each of them. Greed, Kat; it’s a nasty and dangerous business.”

  “Why doesn’t the Canadian government make laws to prevent such destruction and troubles?”

  “They have laws, Kat. It’s just difficult to carry them out when the territory’s overrun with people grasping for anything of value they can find, or steal. It doesn’t help matters that some of your people are claiming Yukon Territory in the name of America. Seems like the States would set up some authority in Skagway and handle their own criminals and troubles; the Mounties have enough of their own. When they do catch a lawbreaker, the first thing he yells is he’s American. I don’t think Washington realizes how bad things are. With many of their criminals hiding out here and getting rich, you’d think they’d send someone to check things over. About the only people they do send are explorers, men wanting to see if this area’s worth their time and trouble. You can bet your boots the gold strike caused quite a stir in your congress. Preston told me they’re talking about an Alaskan homestead act. If they can take our gold and furs, the least they can do is help police this vast territory,” he stated bitterly.

  “If this area’s so rich in resources and so likely to make trouble, why doesn’t my country send help? It’s foolish to buy property, then ignore it.”

  “Maybe your country hopes the trouble will lead to another sale.”

  “Surely you don’t mean that?” she asked, offended.

  “Look at it this way, Kat; Canada is located far from British help. It was beautiful and peaceful here until this gold strike.”

  “Bill Thomas must really like you and trust you,” she casually remarked.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, wariness edging into his gut.

  “How else would you learn so much?” she reasoned.

  “I have those friends in ‘high places’ who drop clues. And I keep my eyes and ears open, and my mouth shut.”

  “Is that
a hint I’m being too personal or nosy?”

  “Why are you so interested in this territory?” he evaded her question.

  “If I was going to give any consideration to living here permanently, I needed to know what things are really like. I don’t mean the colorful tales and promises, but the truth. I thought you would tell me. You don’t think there’ll be real trouble between Canada and America, do you? I wouldn’t want to get trapped in the middle. You told me several times I didn’t belong here, that I can’t make it. Is that really how you feel? Are things that terrible here, or do I lack the stamina and guts to take it?”

  “That’s a loaded question, Kat. Either answer I give makes me a loser,” he mischievously jested, grinning at her.

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “If I say yes, you’ll get angry, or take my word and leave. If I say no, you might stay and get hurt. After yesterday, I’d be a fool to say you lack guts and willpower, but it revealed that you have a dangerous impulsiveness and innocence. If greedy men weren’t involved with the policies and companies on both sides, there wouldn’t be any trouble. Smith is one of those greedy men, Kat. He’s an agitator. He degenerates character and inspires trouble which is to his profit. Whenever there’s serious trouble, Smith’s hand is sure to be somewhere in it. Smith and his American accomplices are doing everything they can to add the Yukon to Alaska. Smith has grandiose ideas of being the first territorial governor. But once the railroad and telegraph are in here, his power will diminish. He doesn’t want that until America controls this area,” he carelessly dropped hints he shouldn’t know.

  “Why don’t the Mounties stop him?”

  “He always manages to stay just above openly breaking the law. Witnesses have ways of vanishing permanently around here, not to mention two Mounties who were working undercover to unmask him.”

  “He’s really that dangerous?” she asked in amazement.

  “More so, Kat. That’s why I was so angry to see you with him. Soapy doesn’t fire people and they don’t quit; they vanish mysteriously or have fatal accidents,” he noted.

  “That doesn’t speak highly of your Mounties, Landis. It seems someone could catch him commiting at least one crime.”

  “That’s because they work inside the law and he doesn’t.”

  “Then hire some man without morals or principles to handle him. Surely there’s one man unafraid to go up against him? I’m surprised one of his victims hasn’t slain him!”

  “Some have tried. If he isn’t handled properly, his death will only bring about his successor. Bill says, when he’s defeated, it must be done as an example,” he carefully informed her, seeking a spot to change the topic.

  “But his example is do anything you wish and get away with it! How can people respect the law and fear it when they see it profitably broken?”

  He chuckled. “What’s so funny?” she inquired.

  “You, love. You’re naive and innocent when it comes to such matters.”

  “Why don’t you take him on? You aren’t afraid of anything or anyone, or so Dray said,” she carelessly dropped a hint.

  “And what else did Dray tell you about me?” he probed.

  “Nothing. Nobody seems to know anything about the mysterious Landis Jurrell. Since Smith is defaming your territory, why not stop him yourself? You sound as if you have great love for the Yukon.”

  “I’ll let a qualified Mounty handle that problem. I have a much prettier one to work on.” He grinned at her. “More coffee, love?”

  “Subject closed, Mr. Jurrell,” she said, deciding he was ready to drop this line of conversation. “Anything else before I clean up?”

  “No thanks. Need any help?”

  “I’ll manage.” Before she stood up, she bravely asked one last question, “Were we married under American or Canadian law?”

  “Why?” he asked. “You plotting your desertion already?”

  “I just wondered if one country’s laws were valid in another country.”

  He laughed mirthfully. “We were wed under English sea-law; binding anywhere, Mrs. Jurrell. That’s why I chose the ship,” he teased.

  She smiled, then began to collect the dishes and place them in the pan. She lifted the water kettle and poured hot water over them. As she wiped the table, he stood up and flexed his muscles.

  “I think I’ll set out some traps while you finish. I should be back late this afternoon. Make yourself at home.”

  She beamed and nodded. He went into the adjoining room and gathered several traps, draping them over his broad shoulders. He attached snowshoes to his boots and picked up his gun. Landis headed for the door, then called back, “Lock the door and don’t open it to anyone except me. No one, Kat, understand?” he stated sternly.

  She walked over to him, drying her hands on a cloth. “Be careful, Landis,” she beseeched him, aware of the perils in this land.

  “I will. Just keep this door locked. Ben won’t be back for weeks, so don’t fall for anyone saying he’s Ben. The cabin is impenetrable. Stay inside. There’s wood in the back.”

  “Don’t worry. I proved I can obey orders, sir.”

  “Yes, you did.” He kissed her passionately and left.

  Kathy locked the door as instructed, then returned to complete her chore. When everything was cleaned and returned to its place, she began to wander around the cabin. Landis had said for her to make herself at home. Home for two weeks, unless she changed his mind.

  Kathy tried out each chair and the small sofa, finding each comfortable and soft. She caressed the pelts, noting their beauty and quality. She wondered why Landis had mounted them rather than sold them. She curiously checked the desk, smiling when she discovered it was indeed locked. How she longed to learn about her love. She peeked into Ben’s room, but did not enter it. As expected, it was similar to the one now shared with Landis.

  She strolled into Landis’s bedroom. She ran her hands up and down the clothes hanging in his closet, his manly odor still clinging to several items. She absently wondered why he had sealed up the back corner, since it cut off useful space. Removing her clothes from the bag which had been placed on his bed, she shook them and hung them beside his, laughing at the pleasurable feeling which washed over her at this simple domestic task.

  She made the bed and straightened the room, folding his clothes and putting them away in the appropriate drawers in his chest. When she opened the trunk at the foot of the bed, she saw linens and extra blankets. Although he had been on his own since twelve, the lack of personal items surprised her. Evidently men didn’t keep souvenirs as women did. She picked up her pack to store it in the supply room.

  When Kathy went to the storage room to place the pack there, she nosed around for a time, observing how well stocked he was. Several weapons rested on a wooden rack with countless boxes of ammunition beneath it. Landis obviously liked to be well prepared. When her eye caught sight of a large tin tub, she nearly shouted with glee.

  Landis would be gone for hours; this was a perfect time to wash her hair and take a bath. She hurried into the kitchen and grabbed several pots to heat water. But to her dismay, there was only one large bucket of water. She laughed aloud as she realized she was surrounded by snow. Landis had warned her to stay inside and keep the door locked. She hesitated, then decided a tiny indiscretion couldn’t harm anyone.

  She carried the pots to the door, hesitating once more before unlocking it. She peeked around the wooden door, seeing nothing but trees and snow, and halted to admire the peaceful silence of her ivory surroundings. The winds and snows had ceased, leaving behind a tranquil stillness. The ground appeared to be heavily dusted with white powder. The limbs on the trees looked snuggly, encased in woolly garments which warmly clothed their naked branches. Fallen snow piled against the door and nestled into the grooves of the log cabin. The sky was intensely blue and clear. As she scanned the deep snow and sloping drifts, she hoped Landis would be careful of hidden perils: holes, rocks, and fallen limbs
.

  Kathy hastily filled the pots with snow and locked the door. She placed them on the stove and impatiently waited. She was delighted she had packed a cake of lavender soap. When the steam began to rise, she filled the tub half way. She knelt beside it and washed her hair, rinsing it with another bucket to her side. She stepped into the tub and sat down. It didn’t matter she was cramped. She leisurely bathed, relishing the refreshing task.

  Afterwards, she sat before the fire to dry her hair, brushing it to increase its natural sheen. When it was dry, she brushed it once more, loving its silky feel and clean smell. Not wishing to upset this cozy setting, she hurried to get rid of the evidence of her defiance. She carried bucket after bucket of water to the door and flung it outside, covered in one of Landis’s flannel shirts. As she tossed out the last one, a hand seized her wrist, imprisoning it in an iron grip. She screamed and jerked on it, pulling free for some strange reason. She stepped back and attempted to slam the door and lock it, terrified by her attack and state of undress. The intruder wouldn’t permit her to close the door, placing his boot in the crack.

  “Get out of here!” she demanded. “Landis Jurrell will kill you for this! Get out!” she screamed once more.

  “Why should I, my naughty wife?” came a voice she recognized.

  She flung open the door and gaped at him. “You scared the life out of me! Don’t you dare do that again!” she shouted at him, hands on hips, face white, legs spread, and breathing ragged.

  His amused gaze lazily roved the fetching sight before him. Her hands were concealed by the length of his shirt sleeves, but the tail didn’t conceal those shapely legs and bare feet. No doubt that was all she was wearing! She smelled like flowers, and golden wheatish hair floated around her shoulders. Her misdeed was evident, all freshly scrubbed and shiny locks…

  “You going to stand there freezing or will you move so I can come inside?” he taunted wickedly, his passion barely restrained.