Alaskan Bride

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  Nannies and their charges played in the grass; childish laughter floated through the air. Businessmen took brisk constitutionals as they continued office discussions as they meandered the pathways. A couple strolled past, arm in arm, enjoying both the sunny weather and each other’s company.

  Clara’s gaze fell upon the young lovers, placing herself in the woman’s position, walking along with her future husband. His name was Jasper Glass; she’d received that much from the address on the envelope. Mrs. Jasper Glass. Jasper was a nice name. She’d known a boy named Jasper in school, and he’d been kind and friendly. Did people become like their names? Were all the Claras in the world like her? Would Mr. Glass be as pleasant as the Jasper of her youth?

  “Here you are!”

  Emma’s whirlwind arrival startled Clara from her thoughts. “Goodness!” she gasped aloud. She patted one hand on her chest though the action didn’t ease her beating heart.

  “My apologies.” Emma gave her a remorseful pout. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. It appeared that you were looking right at me when I came up.” She settled herself onto the bench, expanded an Oriental fan with a flick and busily waved it.

  Clara leaned in for a welcome kiss. “My mind was elsewhere.”

  “As it’s been for months.” Emma smiled with a wink. “One doesn’t need a gypsy fortune-teller to know what’s been on your mind these last weeks.”

  The bright sunlight had nothing to do with the heat on Clara’s face. She searched the middle distance for something to distract her from the burgeoning fear of rejection. “I’ve had word.”

  Emma dropped the fan into her lap, mouth open in surprise. She seized Clara’s hand. “You have? When? Where? What did he say?” Each question was punctuated with a squeeze as her volume increased.

  Miserable and partially thankful for their separation from the other park denizens, Clara struggled past the alarming knot developing in her throat. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” Clara studied Emma. The fan remained in Emma’s lap, and the little line between her eyebrows bespoke confusion. “If you’ve had word, Clara, that would mean you’ve received an answer,” Emma said, her tone that of a nanny correcting a rather slow child.

  With clumsy fingers, Clara opened her purse and withdrew Mr. Glass’s unopened letter. “I received this by post this morning.” She laid it in her lap, and ran her palm across its surface to straighten the folds it had received in transit.

  Emma’s voice became soft. “But you couldn’t open it.”

  Clara shook her head, feeling a sting in her eyes and wishing she could show more courage and fortitude. It wasn’t as if Mr. Glass’s declination of her offer meant the end of the world. Matrimonial advertisements were everywhere. If Mr. Glass didn’t want to marry her, she’d find someone who did, someone both kind and adventurous enough with whom to share a life.

  The letter slid from beneath her fingertips. “Mr. Jasper Glass,” Emma read. “That’s a nice name. A strong name.”

  Clara clutched her hands rather than submit to the urge of snatching the letter back. She had to clear her throat before she could answer. “Do you think so?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m an authority on these things you know.”

  Emma’s absolute and cheerful certainty caused Clara to smile. “Are you?”

  “Of course. Did I never tell you that I suggested my cousin name her son Peter? Instead she’s called him Ignatius.” Emma’s pretty nose wrinkled in distaste. “The poor child will grow up being called ‘Iggy’ by his friends. How horrid.”

  Clara laughed. “Thank you.”

  Emma smiled back; she needed no clarification. She patted Clara’s hand. “Shall we be about it then?” Before Clara could respond, Emma peeled aside one corner of the envelope, stuck her finger inside and ripped it fully open.

  Closing her eyes, Clara braced herself.

  “My, he certainly has exquisite penmanship.” There was a pause. “And quite a flair for words, if I do say so myself.”

  Clara squinted one eye open to glance at the letter, noting Mr. Glass’s excellent handwriting before squeezing it closed once more. “I can’t look!” After many years of shenanigans with her friend, she easily imagined Emma’s jovial amusement over her discomfort. Clara reached over and pinched Emma’s thigh in blind retribution, ignoring the slight yelp. “Just read it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Emma cleared her throat with great theatrics before she began to read.

  Dear Clara,

  I may call you Clara, mayn’t I? I apologize if my salutation seems too forward, but I cannot help myself. Clara is such a beautiful name, and I cannot help speaking it aloud over and over. I look forward to speaking your name in friendship and—dare I say it? —in love as well. And you must call me Jasper. I cannot abide a woman who is not allowed to use her husband’s given name in conversation, public or private.”

  Clara’s hands shot up to her mouth, covering the gasp as her eyes opened wide. “In love?” He’s accepting me? She plucked the letter from Emma’s hand, and scanned the masculine scrawl for herself. She hardly noticed Emma jostling closer to continue reading his words aloud as Clara’s eyes followed them on the page.

  Your letter was most intriguing. I have never had the pleasure of visiting Boston. You must tell me everything about it. My family hails from Oregon, though none are left there, and before that from Iowa. Despite my long association with that state I have only had the pleasure of visiting Portland twice. The hustle and bustle there would no doubt seem a small village in comparison to one of our country’s oldest founding cities! I’ve sojourned the majority of my life in the wilderness of one forest or another, whether in the Oregon and Washington rain forests or the frigid northern territories. I have made my home in the great north for the last twelve years.

  The District of Alaska is exactly as you have imagined and more. It is magnificent! The air is so crisp and clear that you will never understand why you have lived so long in your large city. Birdsong greets you every morning and the deer have been known to walk right up to the cabin in search of sustenance. I reside south of Skagway on a spit of land between the Taiyasanka and Taiya Inlets. The bounty of the ocean is but a short hike away from my homestead. Every morning I awake and look out over the mountain forests, smelling sea air and pole pine as I take my daily constitutional. I believe you will love your new home as much as I.

  The life of a trapper’s wife will be no different than a shopkeeper’s or farmer’s wife. It requires hard work on both our parts. It is rare that I am away from home longer than a day. As I run the traplines, you will keep our home. (If you consent to come to me, I will begin building a palatial cabin for our future family.) Occasionally we will venture into town to sell my merchandise and purchase goods. As you settle into your new home, I will be more than happy to teach you how to trap or fish or hunt as you please. You need only ask.

  Indeed, yes, I will have you for my wife if you but agree. Send me your travel itinerary as soon as you have it so that I may make plans on my end for your timely arrival. If we choose not to marry due to incompatibility, I will of course help pay your passage home.

  I look forward to meeting you.

  With Sincerest Affection,

  Jasper Glass

  Clara stared at the second to last paragraph. “I will have you for my wife if you but agree.” How could she not? This is what she’d hoped for since she’d dropped her initial letter in the post.

  “With sincerest affection,” Emma repeated, tapping the letter. “And he writes so familiarly. Your letter must have turned his head!”

  “I’m going to the District of Alaska,” Clara whispered.

  Emma’s eyes brimmed with tears of joy and sadness. “You’re going to be married.”

  It suddenly occurred to Clara that this was no longer an intellectual exercise. There were no more castles to spin from thin air. This was reality. Not only did she have to make arrangements to travel west and north but she’
d also have to consider the imminent separation from all she’d ever known—her home, her family and her best friend. Loss and soaring joy fought equally in her heart, and she started to weep, clutching at Emma. Handkerchiefs were produced from their purses as they held each other, crying tears of celebration and mourning. Some time passed before Clara extricated herself, dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose with a proper modicum of delicacy.

  Beside her, Emma did the same, adjusting her hat that had been knocked askew. “How do I look?”

  Clara gave the hat brim a twitch. “Acceptable. And me?”

  “A blushing beauty.” Emma chucked Clara’s chin. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “I’ll miss you.” Another round of tears threatened, but Clara held them off with a tremulous smile. “You must marry Bradley and follow. Jasper,” and she paused a moment to savor the taste of her fiancé’s name, “Jasper and I will build you a cabin as well.”

  Emma laughed aloud, sniffling. “Be certain to inform your brother of your plans for him. He might have other ideas, Miss Bossy Pants.”

  “That’s Missus Bossy Pants to you.” Clara evaded the reflexive swat.

  “Not yet, young lady. First you must arrange passage for yourself and your belongings. And you mustn’t go empty-handed, you know. It would be most despicable to arrive at your destination without a dowry.”

  A dowry. Clara blinked, the thought having never occurred to her. “Do you think Jasper will expect one?” She looked at the letter, turning it over in search of an answer.

  Emma placed her hand on Clara’s. “I saw nothing in his letter to indicate he required a dowry. He’s rich in land and probably doesn’t need recompense.” She squeezed. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t consider bringing more than yourself and your baggage along. I’ve read some news articles about the gold rush; to arrive with a load of foodstuffs as well as a full selection of winter clothing for yourself wouldn’t be amiss.”

  Clara had considered her wardrobe. Boston winters were severe upon occasion, so she wasn’t a complete novice. Finding a heavier mackinaw or arctic mittens wouldn’t be remiss. Newspaper articles about the gold rush always had lists of food and equipment, most of which could be purchased in Seattle before she boarded a steamer north. “You’re right. I shouldn’t set ashore empty-handed. I’ll be burden enough at first simply from lack of experience. I’ll need to have money on hand to purchase supplies to bring along with me.”

  Emma’s next words were hesitant. “Have you yet broached the subject with your father?”

  A flash of lightning raced through Clara’s spine, not fear exactly but apprehension nevertheless. “No. I wanted to wait until I had a definitive answer before discussing it with him.” Clara felt Emma’s hand tighten on hers.

  “Fortunately you are the apple of his eye.”

  Clara scoffed. “And unfortunately that may be my downfall. It’s debatable whether Father will accept this proposal because he wishes me to be happy or deny me the opportunity out of fear for my safety.”

  Emma nodded in commiseration. “If you should need anything—a shoulder to cry upon, a place to stay—come to me. I even have money to lend if you have need.”

  Warm love filled Clara’s heart. She brought Emma into an embrace, upsetting both their hats once more. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You’re without a doubt the most wonderful friend I can ever have.”

  * * *

  Clara fussed before the mirror that stood in the corner of her bedroom, smoothing the material of her dress for the hundredth time. She paused and took stock of herself. Dark hair, almost black, had been artfully pinned up, no longer in disarray from the afternoon’s joyful weeping with Emma. Eyes of hazel scanned the lavender tea gown she’d donned, her favorite dress with its leg o’mutton sleeves and an ivory splash of lace at the high collar. The deeper-colored caftan contrasted well with her alabaster skin.

  Despite her alleged beauty, at twenty-four years of age she was considered a spinster in many social circles. There’d been a boy in her youth—handsome and dashing—but his family had moved to Paris before his age of majority. Though Clara had shared multiple-paged letters over the first year of his absence, their contact eventually dwindled to a halt. She’d heard that he’d recently married and had a baby boy. Heartbreak manifests a hundred fold in adolescence. After she’d received the devastating news, Clara would have nothing to do with the suitors that her parents had paraded through the house. Her months had passed in misery, brightened only by visits with Emma and outings forced upon her by her elder brother Bradford. When Clara’s heart had finally healed enough to begin her search anew, no man seemed worthy. None were as jaunty as her Clem had been, none as good-looking. The young men of her generation now attended college or learned a trade; they scarcely had the time or resources to court a well-to-do young woman. Those moneyed gentlemen who were interested in marriage were of an age with and of similar business background as her father. She’d never been able to abide their sly smiles and coquetry, their behavior oddly causing her to feel shame more than desire.

  “Not any longer.” Clara’s reflection stood taller, more confident. “Soon I’ll be Mrs. Jasper Glass of the Alaskan District.” At least once I tell Father.

  Her image slightly wilted at the thought.

  “Clara! Come down to supper!”

  Clara whirled, wide-eyed and panting as if she’d run all the way home from the Common. She calmed herself with an iron will. “Coming Mamma!” At least her voice didn’t sound as washed out as she felt. She gathered her arguments and confidence, mentally wrapping them around herself as she prepared for the impending battle. A last look in the mirror revealed a steely glint in her eyes that reminded her of her father when his dander was up. Pleased by the comparison, she felt the worst of her trepidation fade to a more manageable level as she marched out of her bedroom.

  All meals were held in the formal dining room. Clara hadn’t eaten in the kitchen since she was four years old. Other than two servants to deliver food to the table and a visit from Cook to receive critique and accolades for this evening’s presentation, only Clara and her parents dined. Bradford was at Harvard for spring classes, which meant his attendance at family suppers was often sporadic. Clara had hoped he’d be present for her announcement. She knew she could count on him for support regardless of the apparent preposterousness of her intentions.

  Eventually the last course was removed and the crumbs swiftly brushed away. A serving of mince pie was placed before her with a tiny porcelain cup of coffee. Her father was poured a glass of brandy. Supper conversation had been about his work at the store, a small grocery that he’d expanded into four stores that all bore the same name. Mamma interjected appropriate commentary and suggestions while Clara sat quiet through the meal.

  Father finally turned to Clara. “And how was your day, pumpkin?”

  Clara blinked, startled from her thoughts of frosty Alaskan mornings and the delicious smell of mincemeat pie and coffee filling a small cabin. “W—what? I beg your pardon.” She patted her mouth with her napkin. “What was it you said?”

  “I asked how your day was.” Father cast a wry grin at his wife. “Considering the depth of your thoughts, I imagine it was most entertaining.”

  “Oh, goodness. She must have met with Emma.” Mamma filled her fork with a delicate bite of pie. “The constable hasn’t darkened my door so whatever trouble they’ve gotten into today hasn’t been met with official authority.”

  “Yet,” Father added, raising his brandy in toast.

  Clara felt her cheeks heat with a blush. There were times when she still felt like an awkward teenager in her parents’ presence. Her youth had been one of multiple infractions, both of family rules and a healthy flirtation with the edges of legal propriety. Her only saving grace had been that she was born a girl rather than a boy. She hadn’t suffered sterner penalties for her brash actions for that reason alone.

  Knowing there was no better time to bring u
p her plans, Clara lost her appetite. She dropped her fork with a clink, and pushed the plate away. “I’ve made a decision.” She forced herself to look Father in the eye, fighting the fluttery urge to turn her gaze away, to flee the table.

  A knowing spark flashed in the hazel eyes so like her own. “Do tell, pumpkin.”

  His expression was one of amusement and faint concern that he’d have another mess to clean. He thought she’d gotten into some sort of frivolous trouble and needed him to cover the cost of her indiscretions. Piqued, Clara frowned. She was an adult, for goodness sakes! It had been some years since she’d gotten into a scrap that required his assistance, either influential or monetary. Her annoyance bolstered her confidence. “I’ve an offer of marriage by Mr. Jasper Glass of the Alaskan District.”

  Father’s face melted from vague amusement into serious concern. It was his turn to sputter, “W—what?” His glass thunked to the table, splashing the alcohol over the rim. The smell of brandy overpowered the scent of mince pie.

  “An offer of marriage,” Clara said, tilting her chin in practiced defiance. “It will take approximately a month to gather the necessary supplies and make travel arrangements. I plan to leave town by the beginning of June.”

  Father stared, perplexed, unable to speak. It was Mamma who interjected herself into the conversation. “And who is Mr. Jasper Glass? Have we met this young man?”

  Clara refused to give in to the sudden return of her uncertainty. “No, you haven’t. I…I answered a matrimonial advertisement last month and he responded with his proposal.”

  “A matrimonial—!” Father clamped his mouth closed, and his face became ruddy with the effort to not swear.

  Clara had seen the signs before and knew what words would spill from his lips if he didn’t control himself. She suffered from the same condition. She felt a hand on her right forearm and turned to her mother, grateful for the distraction.