His lips twitched in a smile. “My apologies, Miss Stapleton. In my defense, I’ve just returned to town after two months in the hills.” He gestured down at his disheveled clothing and appearance. “I’ve not yet had time to find a room or a bath, let alone recall the social niceties of cultured civilization.”
Though he still radiated a sternness that reminded her of a fiery preacher, his grin eased the formidable lines of his face. She returned his smile. “Apology accepted.”
The line moved forward, putting the pair of them at the door. A delicious aroma of meaty stew distracted her, and her stomach gurgled in anticipation. She felt a blush, pleased that McKenzie didn’t call attention to her audible gastrointestinal yearnings.
“How long have you known Jasper?”
Clara regarded McKenzie. “To be honest, I can’t say that I know him at all. I’ve never had the pleasure of making his acquaintance in person having only corresponded via post.”
“You’re a braver person than I, uprooting yourself on nothing more than a mere promise.” McKenzie chuckled. “I assume that his advertisement was most satisfactory?”
“It was.” Clara decided she liked the old man. “I know he owns land south of here and that he traps for a living. His letter presented him as a pleasant and honest man. I hope to find it true.”
McKenzie nodded with nary a twitch of eyelid or sidelong glance. “Indeed he is. Patient and hardworking too. You could do much worse for a husband.”
His immediate endorsement did much to ease Clara’s heart. She thought herself a decent judge of character, and Daryl McKenzie didn’t seem the type of man to lie or make light of the topic. “Would you consider yourself a friend of Mr. Glass?”
He cocked his head. “I do. We share many attributes—the love of this great wilderness, an interest in nature’s wonders.” Something crossed his mind, and his smile widened. “When the first load of newcomes came last year, he was so relieved that they continued northward. The last thing he wanted was to have miners mucking up his property and disrupting the game.”
“When the ship traversed Taiya Inlet en route to here, I saw a finger of land to the west. That’s Jasper’s land, yes?” At McKenzie’s affirmation, Clara clapped once and cupped her face in delight. “I thought it so! There was cabin smoke just out of sight!”
“That entire area is Glass property.” Again the line moved. “So indeed, it had to have been the cabin you spotted.”
For a moment Clara had the urge to run from the restaurant, stomach be damned, and leave town for Jasper’s property. She glanced up at the sky, unable to measure when night would fall in these northern environs. “How long would it take to reach his cabin?”
McKenzie craned his neck to follow her gaze, pursing his lips in thought. “No more than two hours by horseback. His homestead is near fifteen miles from here on a decent enough track.”
Clara studied his profile, noting laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. “Would it be possible…?” She dropped her eyes to avoid his, mentally kicking herself for the action. Forcing herself to look at him, she said, “I don’t mean to be forward, Mr. McKenzie. I realize you’ve just arrived in town yourself but I’ve yet to find anyone who knows where Jasper lives. Would it be possible for you to guide me there?”
He studied her as the line moved forward once more and put them just inside the restaurant.
Distracted by the vision of industry as men shoveled food into their mouths, Clara scanned the room. Five small tables, each with four chairs, sat in the tiny room. A sideboard held an assortment of bowls and plates from which an untidy man in an apron served. Though concerned about the cleanliness of the establishment, Clara almost swooned at the meaty smell of savory stew.
“I can take you.”
Clara blinked, her request briefly forgotten in her ravenous hunger. “You will?”
“Yes.” McKenzie’s full smile transformed his severe expression, erasing the unforgiving cast he normally wore. “I’ll hire a wagon. It shouldn’t take too long to deliver you to Jasper.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. McKenzie!” In her excitement, Clara grabbed his forearm and squeezed. “Thank you! I don’t know how to repay you.”
He patted her hand with laughter. “No worries, Miss Stapleton. I’m certain I’ll wheedle a dinner or two out of you when I visit Jasper.” Chairs scraped the floor, and three miners rose to leave. “In the meantime, would you care to join me for lunch?”
Smiling, Clara took his offered arm and strolled to the available chairs. She’d be with Jasper before the sun set. She could hardly wait!
* * *
McKenzie had been correct in his estimation of travel time. According to Clara’s watch, two hours had passed since they’d left town in the cart she’d rented from the same company that had warehoused her foodstuffs. Though barely midafternoon, the sun brushed the tops of the trees and cast its golden light across the clearing. It felt much later than it was.
“Ho, the cabin!” McKenzie called as he pulled the single horse up short in the clearing. Silence was his answer. He wrapped the reins about the brake handle and climbed down. “Must be out on the line.”
Clara eagerly took in her environment, pausing only long enough for McKenzie to help her from the wagon. Three buildings took up space here, two on the far side and one closer. The closer one was a rustic cabin with a smokeless chimney. She had no idea what function the other two buildings served and ignored them for the moment. Jasper had said in his letter that he planned a larger cabin for them, and she searched for evidence of such construction.
“What are you looking for?” McKenzie circled the wagon to unload Clara’s baggage.
She eyed the cramped little cabin with the low-hanging roof. “Jasper mentioned he would build a larger cabin for us, but it doesn’t appear that he’s started it yet.”
McKenzie grunted as he lifted a trunk. “Not surprising. March and April are the worst for soggy ground. That’s spring break up.” He set the trunk at his feet, and reached for another. “Too wet to build until May or June. He’ll probably start soon though.”
Clara absently nodded. The mean little cabin aside, Jasper hadn’t lied when he’d informed her of the beauty of his home. The pole pine forest began directly behind the cabin. A breeze caused the trees to sway, timber groaning and leaves whispering. She saw the distant edge of the Chilkoot Inlet that fed into the Taiya Inlet on which she’d sailed that very morning. A few steps in that direction and she was certain she’d have an excellent view of the steamer ships that navigated to and from Skagway.
The silence had faded as McKenzie worked. The forest denizens took voice once more. Birds and insects made their presence known, filling the fresh, clean air with their song. Clara closed her eyes to listen, amazed at the lack of man-made sound. She’d lived her whole life in Boston where even the quiet of her neighborhood was broken by civilization. Here she heard nothing beyond McKenzie unpacking her luggage to indicate humanity existed. How novel! This solitude must have been what Thoreau had experienced during his two-year experiment on Walden Pond.
“Want I should bring your things inside?”
Clara turned back to McKenzie. He’d placed her baggage and trunks next to the cabin on the hard packed dirt floor of a rudimentary porch. The collection of tools and other items gathered there fascinated her—chains and contraptions, hammers, axes and a wooden hoop with a skin stretched across it. Half the porch was given over to a woodpile. Her eyes alighted on a woven contrivance, and she squinted at it. Snowshoes! She ducked her head to avoid the low roof though it wasn’t necessary, reaching out to finger the wood and leather contraption. She wondered what it felt like to walk upon the deepest snows in them.
“Miss Stapleton?”
She blushed at her discourtesy. “No, Mr. McKenzie. Thank you but you’ve already done so much for me. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your assistance!”
“I’m glad to have been a help, miss.” He touched the brim of his
hat. “Now you’re sure you don’t need me to stay until Jasper returns?”
“No.” Clara took in her surroundings. “Jasper said in his letter that he’s rarely out overnight. I expect he’ll be home soon.”
McKenzie nodded. “All right then. I’ll head back and turn in the wagon. If you’d like, I can make arrangements for your supplies to be delivered tomorrow.”
“That would be most acceptable.” She went to him and shook his hand. “Thank you so much. Expect an invitation to dinner when next we meet.”
He chuckled. “I’ll hold you to that, miss.” He backed away, and formally tipped his wide-brimmed hat. “Take care.”
“And you, Mr. McKenzie.” She waited under the overhang of the porch as he climbed onto the wagon and clucked a tongue at the horse, waited long after the sound of his passage faded before turning to her new home.
When she opened the door, she stepped into darkness. Unlike outside, the air here was stale and musty, the shutters tightly closed. Once her eyes became accustomed to the dim light from the door, Clara eased past the noticeable furniture, stubbed a toe against a low stool and reached the nearest window to throw it open.
With better lighting she opened a second and third shutter, revealing an interior as cluttered as the front porch. An iron stove squatted in one corner, its faint warmth an indication that it had been used that day though the fire had long grown cold. She found a box of matches in the kindling bucket and proceeded to build a fresh fire. When the flames cheerily licked at the wood, she set a pot of water to boil. Half a pot of beans still sat on the stove. She gave it a sniff, decided it was still viable and added some water. Until she had the opportunity to see what stores were on hand here, she’d have to make do with what was available. Thankfully she’d insisted on bringing along sacks of dried corn and flour. She wasn’t completely helpless in the cooking department.
The interior of the coffeepot looked horrendous with crusted-on coffee grounds. It needed a serious scrubbing. She spun around, hands on her hips, and allowed as the entire cabin needed a decent scouring. Dust layered on much of the sturdy furniture, with the exception of one chair and the dining table. Cobwebs sprouted from the upper corners, and draped across the wooden beamed ceiling. They fluttered in the gentle breeze that now flushed the musty smell from the interior.
“No time like the present.” She rolled up her sleeves and got to work.
Chapter Seven
Callie lugged the loaded sledge along the trail. There hadn’t been much on the trapline but a couple of beavers and a hare, but she’d stumbled across a young bull caribou that had gotten entangled in the dead undergrowth between three trees. The sharp branches had pierced him in a number of places, the smell of blood enriching the air. She couldn’t get close enough to safely free him, and the longer he remained trapped the less likely he’d survive the predators that would inevitably gather for a free meal. And it had been awhile since she’d had a taste of good venison, not since before Jasper…
Once she’d slaughtered the caribou, it had taken her most the afternoon to free it from the nest of branches. She missed Jasper at the best of times; she sorely regretted his loss when it came to matters of sheer strength. After suffering a number of scratches as she chopped and tugged at the lifeless carcass, she finally towed it from its bloody trap. She gutted and field stripped it before loading it onto the sledge. As she dragged the caribou home, she considered the day’s work. The hide would be worthless with all the holes in it though the bones, teeth and sinew would be of interest to some. She decided to keep the hide for herself along with half the meat. That would sit her pretty for a month as well as give her decent leather for a new pair of boots.
She’d only been to town once since Jasper’s… Her mind shied away from the thought. The town trip had been about as bad as she’d expected. The people there had never cared much for her, seeing her as unnatural and strange in her men’s clothes. Jasper had been the friendly one, the one who joked with folks and put them at their ease. Callie had never had the knack, seeming to rub people wrong at first encounter. She knew that the butcher had taken a good ten percent off the worth of the meat on her last delivery, but there was nothing she could do without Jasper around to call the bastard out on his cheating ways. Though a boon, the caribou meat was also an albatross. She’d have to head into town before it spoiled, and she didn’t look forward to dealing with people that soon again.
Wood smoke tickled her nose and she looked at the horizon with a frown. A trickle of smoke puffed into the sky, smoke that obviously came from her cabin. Immediate fear stabbed her heart. Did the cabin catch fire? But no, the smoke was an innocuous white, typical for a wood stove that had been enkindled and belched exhaust. Had the homestead been on fire, the smoke would be a dense black and she would have caught wind of it some time ago.
Someone was there. Someone had trespassed and invaded her privacy. Who the hell would have the audacity to barge into her cabin and start up the stove? Callie knew a number of people who didn’t like her, but most wouldn’t have made the effort. It took two hours on a mediocre track to reach the cabin. Besides if anyone meant her harm, they wouldn’t warn her, would they? Those few lowlifes that had it out for her would wait in the woods until they had her in their sights and shoot her.
She glanced back at her sledge. She’d imagined a thick venison steak, maybe with some eggs on the side. If she abandoned the load to investigate the cabin, she might lose the meat to predators before she could return. Better to bring it along even if it made a sitting duck out of her. Maybe Daryl McKenzie had come down from the hills; he was about due and was the only person she knew who would make himself at home. Mind made up, she put her back to the task at hand.
Another half hour passed before Callie hauled the sled into the yard. She hadn’t seen any evidence of prowlers in the brush. The cabin windows and door had all been thrown open. Several trunks and bags were stacked on the porch, and her frown deepened to a scowl. That wasn’t Daryl’s gear. Did she have a squatter who thought her property was free for the taking now that Jasper was gone? Maybe some no-account from town had scammed a new arrival, selling land that wasn’t his to some rube fresh off the steamer. Callie knew her rights in the case of property law—this land and all the buildings on it were hers now, and no muggins could take it from her. Though she usually shied away from confrontation, she’d be damned if she’d roll over for this blatant thievery.
With a growl, she let the sledge straps fall as she marched toward her home, rifle in hand. Nearing the door, she smelled beans and cornbread. Cornbread? She’d used the last of her cornmeal a week ago. A glance at the bags and trunks revealed that the baker had brought their own staples. There was a strange sound too, a humming coming through the window. It wasn’t until she burst into the cabin that she realized that what she heard was music.
A young woman stood in one corner of the cabin, a broom in her hands as she swept vigorously at the ceiling. Her dark hair had been pinned up but was in disarray. She’d rolled up the sleeves of her dress, and Callie registered a proper feminine hat on the freshly scrubbed dining table.
“Who in the hell are you?” Callie demanded.
The woman stopped humming and gasped as the broom dropped to the floor. Stray cobwebs drifted away from her industry as she stared at Callie with large hazel eyes, one hand on her chest as if to physically calm her heart. “Oh, my! You nearly scared the life out of me!”
A quick scan of the interior showed no one else present. Emboldened, Callie leaned the rifle against the table and crossed her arms over her chest. “I asked you a question. Who are you and what are you doing in my cabin?”
“You’re Jasper’s…sister?” The woman’s voice was hesitant. “I believe Mr. McKenzie mentioned he had a sister, though Jasper never informed me.”
“McKenzie? Daryl?” Callie looked over her shoulder at the door, expecting the old man to appear. When he didn’t, she turned back to the stranger. “Who are yo
u again?”
The woman blushed prettily. Dusting her hands on an apron tied about her waist, she closed the distance between them. “My name is Clara Stapleton.” She held out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Callie stared at the hand, the name rattling in her head. Where had she heard it before? Clara Stapleton… She recalled the crackle of paper, the smell of lilac perfume. “You! What are you doing here? Didn’t you get my letter?”
Clara cocked her head, hand slowly pulling away from Callie’s distaste. She clasped her hands together before her, her stance reminiscent of Callie’s mother the moment before she began a serious dressing down. “I’m afraid you have me at a loss. I’ve told you my name and it’s only polite that you return the favor in kind.”
Heat raced up Callie’s cheeks. She struggled not to drop her gaze. “I’m Callie Glass. And yes, I’m Jasper’s sister. And you,” she pointed a finger at Clara’s face, “shouldn’t be here! I sent you a letter calling it off weeks ago.”
For a brief instance it appeared that Clara planned to bite the offensive finger, but it passed as dismay washed across her face. “Calling it off? The wedding? But why?”
Callie groaned. She pulled out a chair and collapsed into it, planting an elbow on the table and rubbing her forehead. Apparently she hadn’t taken Miss Stapleton’s eagerness into account when she’d written to tell her of Jasper’s…
“Where’s Jasper?” Clara demanded, her voice catching.
Surprised, Callie looked up. Clara’s hands now wrung each other, her pleasant countenance having given away to outright worry. It occurred to Callie that even though this woman had never met her brother, she’d had a head full of dreams that were spoiled as surely as Callie’s own. Had Clara seemed more callous over the matter, Callie would have delightfully used the information to cause her pain. Callie fought with an irrational urge to let the woman down easy. She stood and offered the chair. “You need to sit down.”
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