Clara grasped her elbows, her ivory skin bleaching. “Why? What happened to him? Where is he?” Hazel eyes darkened as they darted about the cabin in search of the man she’d traveled so many miles to marry.
Callie stepped forward, intent on guiding Clara to the chair, but Clara stepped back. Half exasperated, half understanding the fearful anticipation, Callie stood still, hands up and palms forward in surrender. She wasn’t sure how to say the words, having avoided using them even in thought. To speak them aloud made them manifest, yet Clara didn’t deserve a lie. Bold and brazen the woman might be, but she’d abandoned her previous life on the promise of a new existence with a man who no longer existed.
Slumping back into the chair, Callie stared at her boots. “Jasper and I had a run-in with a bear near a month ago. It attacked him, did some serious damage to his innards.” She swallowed against the lump of tears in her throat, refusing to allow the sobs to find their way to the surface. “He died a few days later.” A suspicious tickle made her sniffle, and she wiped at her nose with the sleeve of her shirt. “I sent you a letter a day or two later, but I reckon it didn’t get there in time.”
“I suppose not.” Clara’s voice was faint, wooden. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Callie heard a rustle of clothing and looked up to see Clara stumble to perch on the edge of Jasper’s bed. Clara’s obvious shock at the news indicated she’d had no ulterior motives for marrying a landed stranger in Alaska. Unless she’s upset she missed the opportunity. Though the idea that Clara was a brassy malingerer with plans to humbug Jasper for his property had merit, it didn’t feel right the longer Callie watched her.
They sat in silence for some time, each visiting with their particular specter of grief. Callie fell into her usual trance as she stared at the table, running her fingers over the familiar designs of the wood grain. From the corner of the room she heard the occasional sniffle and movement from her guest but hesitated to interfere with Clara’s heartbreak.
“Oh!” Clara hastily wiped the tears from her face. She tucked her handkerchief into her sleeve as she stood. “The cornbread!” She hastened to the wood stove. Using a rag as a pot holder, she removed a cast-iron pan and placed it on the table on top of a towel to cool.
The smell of fine cornbread filled the air, causing Callie’s stomach to rumble. Damn, that smells good. Much better than mine. Her hunger reminded her of her dinner plans and the caribou still lashed to the sledge outside. Wild animals seldom strayed into the yard in daylight, but the meaty buffet out there would beckon even the shyest to come in for a free meal. She stood and glanced out a window at the darkening sky. “There ain’t no way to get you back to town tonight. And I’ve still got to unload and butcher today’s kill.” She placed one hand on her hip and rubbed her face with the other. “You can sleep here tonight.”
Clara looked like she wanted to argue, though Callie couldn’t suss out what was debatable about her statement. Clara suppressed whatever she had wanted to say and nodded. “Of course. Thank you.”
Relieved, Callie felt her shoulders relax. It would be a long night with a stranger in her cabin, but there was no reason to take it out on Clara. It had been Jasper’s doing and bad timing that had caused this situation, nothing more. Callie gestured at the door. “It’ll take me about an hour, then we can grill up some caribou steaks to go with that fine-smelling cornbread.”
Her compliment startled a slight smile from Clara, drawing out her beauty. Unable to help herself, Callie grinned back and left the cabin. It was probably a good thing Jasper wasn’t here. She had the distinct impression that both she and her brother would have fallen for Miss Clara Stapleton.
* * *
Clara lay in Jasper’s bed, in the bed that would have been her marriage bed, the one she’d have called her own after they’d wed. A smaller cot in the other corner of the room held the woman who would have been her sister-in-law. None of that would happen now. Jasper had gone on to his heavenly reward, his soul singing with the angels rather than pining for a young wife. She sincerely hoped he was at peace.
The news of his demise had dashed her dreams. Callie had mentioned twice in the course of the evening that she’d take Clara into town, intent on sending her packing back from whence she came. Clara sighed and faced the rough wood wall. Perhaps she hadn’t used those words, but it seemed to Clara that Callie couldn’t wait for her to go far away. Clara supposed she couldn’t blame her. Callie had obviously loved her brother very much, and Jasper’s loss bit deep into her heart. The last thing Callie wanted or needed was a strange woman lingering in her home, reminding her of the man that had been the cause of her presence.
But damn it all! This was Clara’s life too. She might not have known Jasper as intimately as she had in her daydreams, but after all the hard work and organization to get here she couldn’t pack up and leave after one night! She imagined dragging her tail between her legs back to Boston, the repressed glee from her father, the combination of felicity and sorrow upon Emma’s face. She’d see the resumption of the elderly marriage candidates at her door with their bad breath, rotted teeth and prodigious paunches. Either she’d be forced to choose one of them or spend her life as a spinster. It simply would not do! Clara closed the door on that particular path, and considered her immediate future. If she wasn’t to marry, there were other avenues to explore.
She’d noted while in Skagway that there were a number of tent establishments that had sprouted off the main street. They offered laundry and sewing repairs and seemed to do brisk business. From all appearances they were crewed or owned by women. Daryl McKenzie had mentioned a number of women had also opened their own restaurants, serving those miners that searched for a bit of home. If worse came to worse, Clara could use the rest of her money to open a similar shop or restaurant. She had a fair hand with needlework and could cook well enough. There wasn’t much call in Skagway for embroidery or gourmet meals for which she hadn’t the skills anyway.
But she hadn’t come here to begin a business. She’d come looking for a home in the magnificent northern wilds, to be a decent helpmate for a husband who would give her several children. Today she’d discovered a small photograph amongst the dusty shelves she’d cleaned, one of a man and woman. The woman was Callie, taken only a year or two ago, which meant the man had been her brother. It was the first time Clara had seen his image. Jasper had been a handsome man, with lively light-colored eyes. Their children would have been beautiful—blue eyes and dark hair—comprising the best of both parents.
Tears sprang into her eyes again as she suffered the loss of her dreams, of the children she and Jasper would never have. Annoyed, she shoved the maudlin imaginings aside and flopped onto her back. Callie snorted and shifted in her bed, her breathing eventually evening back out into slumber.
Clara considered the assertive women who’d clustered together on board the steamer ship she’d arrived upon, smoking their cigarettes and cackling like roosters on the deck. She’d wager that Callie was of the same breed. Callie certainly had the masculinity down, acting the tomboy in her trousers and suspenders. Clara had peeked outside as Callie had unloaded the wheel-less barrow she’d used to haul the carcasses, amazed at the woman’s strength. At first glance, Callie appeared fragile, a slender young woman bearing a wounded expression, one who could break with the slightest breeze. But Clara had seen her heft a deer—caribou, she reminded herself—that had weighed as much if not more than her. That fragility hid a wiry strength.
Clara stared up into the dark rafters. She shivered at the thought of spiders falling upon her. That hadn’t been the only task she’d accomplished, but she was glad she’d at least taken care of the cobwebs. In fact, the entire cabin needed a thorough scrub. Dust still sat thick on many surfaces, the stove was in desperate need of a scour and polish and every piece of clothing and linen needed laundering. Callie had said she’d lost Jasper a month ago, but it had been much longer than that since the interior of the cabin had seen bette
r care. Clara smiled. Callie took after the typical man in more ways than temperament and clothing preference. She seemed ignorant on how to run a household, not comprehending that it took more than chopping wood and bringing home staples from town to live a decent life.
Clara felt the smile wither from her face. How closely did Callie follow a man’s perspective? Clara had run roughshod over most men since her age of majority, using her feminine guile to attain her goals. She could almost hear Emma’s giggle as she considered her choice of action. It was entirely possible that Clara could ingratiate herself with Callie enough to remain here. At the very least, she could postpone her eviction from the premises for a few days, possibly a week. In that time, she could make herself so indispensable that Callie would have to allow her to stay.
Clara’s smile returned full force. Had it been daylight and had Callie witnessed it, Callie would have been dazzled into blindness.
Chapter Eight
Callie woke to the clatter of pans on the stove and the smell of coffee. She hadn’t been alone long enough to become accustomed to the solitude, and it took several minutes along the warm edge of slumber to remember that Jasper was gone and a stranger had invaded her house. Startled at the belated if repetitious revelation, she sat up, and brushed troublesome blond hair from her face as she searched the room.
Clara had fully dressed. She bustled about the wood stove, perfectly at home as she cooked. Either Callie had been seen or heard when she woke because Clara glanced away from the griddle to smile at her. “Good morning, sleepy. I have coffee when you want it. Do you like flapjacks?”
The innocuous question so soon after waking confused Callie. Mind fuzzy, she took a minute too long to ponder her response.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Clara returned to her brisk business, and flipped a pancake. “You’d best be up if you want any. I’m hungry enough I might eat them all.” She gestured with the spatula at a plate of pancakes on the table.
Hunger fought with dismay as Callie considered grabbing her clothes and leaving the cabin. She received a sharp look from Clara that interrupted her flight reflex and hastily dropped her feet from the bed. “Um, yes ma’am.” Her brisk politeness was rewarded with a larger smile, and she helplessly returned it.
“I took the liberty of stripping more meat from the caribou,” Clara said conversationally. “I think fried venison and eggs will go well with breakfast. What do you reckon?”
Callie paused and stared. Gone was the lost young woman who’d cried at the news of her future groom’s death. Now she efficiently juggled pans of sizzling food. Callie had thought that Clara was from a well-to-do family, one with servants to do the dirty work of butchering and cooking. Clara’s handwriting, her use of a perfumed envelope and her wardrobe all pointed to the same. It had never occurred to Callie that Clara could create such wonderful aromas from a little flour and eggs, last night’s cornbread notwithstanding.
Clara looked at her again, raising an elegant eyebrow, a reminder to Callie that she hadn’t yet responded.
“Oh! Um…” Callie cast about her recent memory. Fried venison. Eggs. “Yes! Yes, I think that’ll do fine.” She cleared her throat, shying away from Clara’s pleasure as she shoved her feet into her pant legs. She used the activity of dressing as an opportunity to regain some equilibrium. She felt as if she swam in unfamiliar waters with a dangerous undertow that she couldn’t quite feel. That’s just silly. What could be more familiar than her bed, her home, her life? At least what’s left of it.
“Come and get it.” Clara placed a plate of eggs and venison at Callie’s seat, turning to retrieve the coffee and a dented tin cup.
Jasper’s cup.
“Put that down.” Callie strode across the room in her bare feet, nightshirt and suspenders dangling below her thighs.
Clara flinched away from Callie’s harsh voice, uncertain which item had caused offense.
Callie grabbed Jasper’s cup. She whirled about, and hugged it to her chest. There was only one use for Jasper’s cup, a use for which she hadn’t yet shown the courage. Her throat burned with the pressure of holding her dolorous tears inside. She gulped in air in an effort to gain control of her emotions.
Behind her she heard the coffeepot grate across the stove as Clara set it down. A distant part of her wondered if she’d hurt Clara’s feelings, the sorrow of such an action added to the heap of misery she already carried. Coupled with that was the spiteful pleasure that she had. It doesn’t matter. After breakfast she’d see Clara on her merry way, and life would return to normal. It’ll never be normal, a voice whispered. Maybe after Clara was gone Callie would have the ability to follow through with Jasper’s cup and the bottle of laudanum. Maybe this was the very reason she hadn’t done so yet, subconsciously awaiting Clara’s arrival if it would come at all.
“It was his, wasn’t it?” Clara asked, her voice a whisper.
With great effort, Callie nodded. She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. It didn’t tug at her or force her to turn and reveal the naked grief upon her face. It just rested there, and offered warmth and support, the touch of a woman who comprehended at least a little of the loss she suffered.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I promise I won’t use it again.”
Her calm understanding almost undid Callie’s self-restraint. The tableau continued as she wrestled the ball in her throat down by tiny increments until it returned to its home in her heart. She took an unsteady breath and stepped out of Clara’s reach, crossing the cabin to carefully set Jasper’s cup on the shelf next to her bed. “Thank you.”
The sound of movement informed Callie that Clara had returned to the stove. She used Clara’s distraction to quickly doff her nightshirt and replace it with a wool one. She shoved the tails into her trousers, buttoning them and pulling the suspenders over her thin shoulders. She turned, slightly awkward.
Clara’s eyes held sympathy as she gestured to Callie’s chair. “Come, sit down. Have breakfast.”
Callie allowed herself to be directed to the table. Despite the punishment her emotions were taking, she was impressed to realize she was still hungry. Since Jasper had left her, she’d been less and less inclined to eat. Her cooking left a lot to be desired anyway, and the grief hadn’t added much sauce to her cravings. Now she felt famished, like her stomach met her spine. She fell to her breakfast with controlled ferociousness.
Clara sat across from her with her own plate. She’d procured a bowl to use as a coffee cup, causing Callie a twinge of guilt for her irrational outburst. Clara acted as if everything was hunky dory as she sipped blackjack from her bowl and cut into her venison and eggs as she chatted.
As Callie ate, Clara talked. Most of the conversation was one-sided as she regaled Callie with a narrative about her train trip across country and her week on the steamer ship. It didn’t take long for Callie to fall into a sort of trance, listening to the vivid descriptions of places she’d never see, allowing the strange Bostonian accent to wash over her. Before she knew it, Clara had collected her empty dishes and set about washing them.
“Now, Mr. McKenzie should have made arrangements for the rest of the foodstuffs to be delivered today. I expect they should arrive by midday.”
Callie blinked, finally focusing on the topic rather than the sound. “Foodstuffs?”
“Of course, silly.” Clara transferred hot water from the bucket on the stove to a large pan she’d converted into a wash tub. “I told you, remember? I purchased a thousand pounds of staples in Seattle before boarding the Queen. I left it with Mr. Lutkins at Pacific Freight.” She rolled up the sleeves of her dress and immersed her hands in water. “Today I’ll go through the cabinets and make space for everything. Do you go out on the trapline every day?”
“Um.” Callie nodded her head. “Normally, yes. We each had our own lines that we’d check. Now that Jasper’s…now that I’m alone, I go out most days, swapping between them.”
Clara nodded. She used the bucket to rinse a
plate, and set it aside on a fresh apron she’d pulled from her belongings. “Let me make your lunch. You’ll need supper on the trail.”
Supper? Callie opened her mouth but couldn’t think of what to say as Clara dried her hands and proceeded to wrap up a slab of cooling venison.
“I purchased apples in Seattle. When the delivery arrives I’ll bake a pie for you.” She broke apart the cornbread and buttered it before bundling it with the venison into another napkin. She slid the food across the table. “You have a pack you carry, yes?”
“I do.” Callie accepted the bundle. “But there’s really no need. I’d planned to bring you in to town today—”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Clara reached out to pat Callie’s upper arm before returning to the dishes. “There’s simply too much to do around here just yet. And I’d hate to miss Mr. Lutkins’s delivery.”
Callie gaped at the woman. What part of “You’re going back” doesn’t she understand?
Clara seemed oblivious to Callie’s confusion as she finished the dishes. She set another pot of water on the stove and proceeded to pull every plate, cup and bowl from the shelf to wash. Though she didn’t say it, her domestic industry created an air of “skedaddle” that Callie couldn’t resist. Her mother had been the same way when it came to housework—discretion was always the better part of valor when Mama got started on her chores. Callie thanked Clara for both the breakfast and lunch, grabbed her boots and gear and fled the cabin.
She stood in the yard, and listened to the rattle and splash of a thorough cleaning behind her. Though concerned at what she’d find upon her return, she felt a certain rightness too. It had been so long since Callie had lived in a proper home, she’d forgotten the level of comfort inherent in having a woman about the house. That didn’t mean she regretted a single minute of living with Jasper, but it was funny how she’d never recognized the loss of her mama’s homemaker skills until just now.
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