A closer inspection of the porch showed that the stools had been dusted off and the cobwebs brushed away. Though the traps that hung from the cabin wall had been left alone, a number of smaller tools had been neatly stacked on a folding table that had once resided inside the cabin. Fresh kindling had been placed on the woodpile, probably from the debris swept up in the yard. The kindling distracted her from her initial disgruntlement of the table being brought outside. It reminded her of a dead tree she’d noted on today’s run. She made a mental note to cut it up and haul it home. Wood was chopped every day in Alaska or there wouldn’t be enough to get through the coming harsh winter. She told herself to warn Clara that roaming around outside the cabin without a gun close at hand wasn’t safe. Did she know how to shoot?
Callie shook her head. Clara was going back to Skagway tomorrow. She didn’t need to know the dangers of the wilderness. By this time next week she’d be back in Boston, sipping tea and eating sweets, flirting with the menfolk in her ongoing effort to gain a husband.
A delicious aroma threw off her dissatisfied thoughts, the scent strengthening as she stepped inside. The smell of apple pie, rich venison stew and coffee struck her stomach hard, making her sway on her feet. How come my stew never smells like this? And is that bread baking?
“Welcome home.” Clara approached and took Callie’s pack from her shoulder. “How was your day?”
Callie blinked as Clara hung her pack from a nearby hook. When inquiring hazel eyes turned to stare at her, she cleared her throat with a start. “Oh! Um…it went all right.” The smile she received in return caused the memory of Jamie Perkins to fly out the open door behind her.
“Excellent.” Clara returned and took Callie’s hat, hanging it as well. “I hope you’re hungry. The biscuits should be finished any minute now.”
“Biscuits?” Callie’s mouth watered.
“Biscuits.” Clara went to the stove to stir the stew. “Wash up.”
Callie hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “I already did in the rain barrel.”
Clara raised an eyebrow. “With soap?”
Mouth open, Callie froze. Soap? Was there any left from Jasper’s last trip to town? Before she could enunciate a response, Clara chuckled.
“Here.” Clara retrieved a used bar and a linen and handed both to Callie. “Wash up with this. Go on.” She shooed Callie back outside.
Standing again in the yard, Callie stared at the soap and linen, then over her shoulder at the cabin door. Clara had gone back to the wood stove. From the sounds of it she was dishing up dinner—venison stew, fresh hot biscuits and apple pie to finish. Callie’s stomach reminded her to get a move on, its hunger inciting her to follow instruction.
Callie stepped back inside, now smelling strongly of lilac soap. Clara waved in the general direction of a shelf. While she turned back to the stove and began dishing up dinner, Callie returned the soap and linen to the counter. For the first time she got a good look at the interior of the cabin.
There didn’t appear to be a lick of dust or a cobweb in the entire cabin. The shelves holding household goods and tools had been neatened, and now appeared overcrowded with new items. Callie peered at the shelf in front of her, noting a new box of candles, matches and tins of condensed milk and corned beef. She scanned the rest of the corner that served as a kitchen. The shelves overflowed with goods and linen curtains had been hung in front of the storage space under the counter. She twitched one aside, stupefied to see fifty-pound canvas sacks of staples. “What the hell?”
“I told you that Mr. McKenzie had made arrangements for the delivery of my shipment.” Clara turned toward Callie, a hot plate of stew in her hands. “He arrived while you were out.”
Meaning Daryl McKenzie had probably seen Callie’s underthings. She sagged, and leaned against the counter. “Why didn’t you go with him when he left?” When Clara didn’t answer immediately, Callie sighed and turned to fully face her. “I told you yesterday. There’s no place here for you.”
Clara’s gaze dropped down to the table before she straightened, chin up. “Sit down and eat.” She set the plate of stew and biscuits at Callie’s chair, and whirled about to pour a cup of coffee. “Hurry now. Before it gets cold.”
Left without an argument to defend, Callie paused. Clara ignored her, setting down the cup and returning to the stove to dish up her serving. Callie sat, the meaty aroma from her plate doing much to distract her from a strong sense of awkwardness. She realized it was rude of her to speak her mind like that, especially after the woman had gone to such lengths to clean up around the place and fix such a wonderful meal. The apple pie at the other end of the table mocked her resolve to send Clara packing come morning.
Dinner was a repeat of the previous evening’s meal as Callie stuffed herself with good home cooking and Clara regaled her with her day’s activities. It was only when Clara discussed curtains and putting in a garden that Callie became alarmed. Before she could vocalize her concerns, Clara dished up a slice of the best apple pie Callie had ever had, effectively shutting her up as she adored every morsel.
When dinner was finished, Clara chased Callie out of the house to collect the sheets and make the beds while she cleaned up the remains of their meal. Callie struggled with the unfamiliar chore, stuffing wooden clothespins into her pants pocket as she hefted the material over her shoulder. She remembered how her mother had hollered when she’d let the clean laundry trail in the dirt. The last thing she wanted was to test Clara’s domestic authority despite an irrational urge to do just that.
Once back inside, the motions of making the beds distracted her from her thoughts, perhaps even soothed her nerves. So what if Clara stayed another night? Tomorrow Callie would send her to Skagway as planned. There was plenty enough light to escort her into town tonight, but she reckoned it would be rude to tell the woman to shove off so soon after that delightful meal. Besides which I’m tired. A good night’s sleep after that dinner will fix me right up.
Resolved to take care of business tomorrow, Callie finished the beds, and pulled the furs and blankets in from the windows. She ignored a twinge of consternation as she noted two new quilts and a stack of new books on the shelf over the bed. As she shot a glance at Clara, who had begun drying dishes and setting out a sourdough mix, Callie wondered again if Clara truly understood that she wasn’t welcome.
Clara noted her observance, looking back with a cheerful smile. “Would you like some tea?”
Startled at being caught, Callie jerked her head around. “No.” She exerted extra effort into her chore, sneaking another peek at Clara, relieved as she began to wipe the table clean. Callie blew out a breath of relief and then wondered why she felt that way. Women are so confusing.
Chapter Nine
When Clara woke it was already daylight. For the second day in a row, she sat up with a start, half panicked that it was much later in the day than it was. A glance at her watch reminded her that the sun rose and set at vastly different times than she’d experienced in Boston. Breathing a sigh of relief that she hadn’t overslept, she looked over at the smaller bed, pleased to note that Callie hadn’t been awakened by her panic.
She wished she could roll back into the blankets and furs to sleep a while longer. Instead she eased out of the bed, setting bare feet onto the cool floor. The one thing her mother had drilled into her during her last few weeks at home was the need to be up before her husband in order to make a good impression. Callie wasn’t her husband, but the last thing Clara needed was for Callie to catch her napping, not if she wanted to stay. Clara had other ideas about her future, most of which had nothing to do with her being chased off to Skagway so soon after her arrival regardless of her lack of wedded bliss.
Keeping her movements slow and silent, she dressed for the day, pulling her arms into her nightgown and shimmying into her underthings on the off chance that Callie would wake. She left her shoes tucked under her bed, not wanting to make a sound. After twitching her bedding into some se
mblance of order, she went to the front door and opened it a crack to allow more light into the cabin. At the stove, she retrieved a match and opened the firebox, cringing as it squealed on its hinges. She cast a quick peek at Callie’s bed, pleased that there was no movement from that quarter, and lit the fire she’d prepared the evening before.
The fire door safely closed with a minimum of noise, she busied herself by stepping out into the yard to drain the pot of beans she’d left to soak through the night. The cool morning air caressed her skin, so much more refreshing than the swelter of Boston in June. She quickly took care of her business in the outhouse and returned to the cabin, mincing as the soles of her bare feet traversed the rough yard.
She cleaned and prepared the beans for simmering on the stove all day. Breakfast would be a challenge. Callie kept no chickens—all her eggs had to come from town and there weren’t enough to both make a loaf of bread and have eggs for breakfast. Preferring to bake bread today, Clara idly considered the efficacy of keeping a flock of chickens here as she prepared another batch of biscuits. Did Callie have the knowledge and ability to build a chicken coop? What were some of the issues of raising chickens through the long winters here? Clara wondered if they’d need a small stove in the henhouse, or would it be easier to build a coop against the cabin and add a grate between them to allow warmth in from the cabin? The bounty of baked goods and boiled eggs might make it worth living all winter with the smell of hen. She popped the biscuits into the oven box to bake.
The caribou venison didn’t have much fat, so she fried up a bit of her bacon with some lard. Biscuits and gravy would have to do for breakfast. Tomorrow I’ll fix oatmeal. I can use some of the dried fruit to zest it up. The cabin began to smell of bacon grease and coffee. Clara put the leftover apple pie on the stove warmer. That would taste mighty good later today. She added flour and water to the fry pan, stirring it into a thick gravy as she considered today’s tasks.
Keeping the cabin clean was her top priority. She eyed the shuttered and oil-skinned windows. When she’d filled her shopping lists in Seattle, she’d included bolts of material for clothing and curtains, yarns and string for various craft projects and the appropriate tools to utilize them. Interior curtains for the windows would be a nice touch and wouldn’t take too long to create. At home people used rods to hold the curtains in place. She doubted she’d find a curtain rod anywhere in a five-hundred-mile radius here. Surely she could locate nails on the homestead to hang curtains, at least until she had opportunity to create or purchase a reasonable rod.
Sounds of movement from Callie’s corner of the cabin disrupted Clara’s domestic schemes. She saw the movement of a tousled blond head and congratulated herself on getting the jump on Callie again. The more she made herself an asset, the more leverage she had to counteract Callie’s desire to send her away. “Good morning. Coffee’s on. Breakfast will be ready in a few more minutes.”
Callie mumbled a response, rubbing her face and brushing fingers through her hair.
Clara focused on stirring the gravy. She found Callie adorable in the morning with her sleepy face and mussed hair. Callie’s hair was spun gold in the sunlight. Clara wondered if Callie would ever feel comfortable enough for Clara to brush her hair. Back home Clara had always found fixing Emma’s hair soothing. A glance at Callie’s morning scowl made Clara grin. Perhaps not, at least not until they became much more familiar with one another.
The gravy had thickened. She pulled the pan off the stove and checked the biscuits. Nearly done. Callie staggered past to use the privy outside, unlaced boots clomping on the floor. While she was out, Clara rolled up the oilskins and threw open the shutters to allow fresh air and sunlight into the cabin.
Upon Callie’s return, Clara had the biscuits out of the oven. She dished up a plate of them, ladling a liberal serving of bacon-venison gravy over them and placed the plate at Callie’s chair. “Breakfast is ready.”
Clara had correctly tagged Callie as a Grumpy Gus in the mornings. Despite Callie’s natural inclinations toward crotchetiness, it didn’t take her long to warm up with good food in her stomach. Pleased, Clara dished her own breakfast and sat across from her benefactor. “Do you have gardening tools in one of the sheds outside?”
Callie paused, midbite. “Got shovels, maybe a hoe. Ain’t never been much one to garden around here.” She sighed, lowering her fork. “And I don’t see reason to start seeing as I’m taking you to town today.”
Clara braced herself and gathered her arguments. “I’d rather stay here if it’s all the same to you.”
“Why?” Callie’s question was blunt, any good humor from a fine breakfast fading as she glared across the table. “You came here for a husband. There ain’t one here.” She waved about the cabin. “Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate the work you’ve done since you got here, but there’s no reason for you to stay.”
Clara drummed her fingers on the table, her exasperation rising to meet Callie’s. “I left everything I’ve ever known to come to the Alaska District. Yes, it was with the initial understanding that I’d marry your brother, but that option isn’t available now. That doesn’t mean I’m going to run back to my father’s home with my tail between my legs.”
Callie stared, mouth open in response to Clara’s forceful tone. She snapped her jaw shut, and grasped the sides of the table. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Oh?” Clara cocked her head. “And what are you saying?” She watched a flush darken Callie’s freckles. The sight intrigued her. With a mental shake of her head for her odd woolgathering, she focused on the task at hand.
“I’m saying this ain’t the place for you,” Callie said.
“Fine.” Clara ignored her stab of disappointment. Apparently she hadn’t made herself as indispensable to Callie as she’d hoped. It was too bad she hadn’t had more time to convince her. “If you insist on evicting me from the premises, we should get packing. I’ll need at least half of these supplies to live on while I consider my other options.”
Callie gaped at her again. “What other options? Even if you don’t go back to Boston, you can go anywhere in the world. Why stay here?”
“Because this is where I want to be.” Clara rapped one knuckle on the table to punctuate her statement. “This is where Jasper wanted me to be. Even if you don’t want me residing here, I’m not leaving Skagway.”
Callie groped for an appropriate response, mouth working as her gaze darted around the cabin.
Clara pressed her advantage. “I’d much rather stay here if you’ll have me.” She put her hands in her lap in an attempt to appear contrite though she wasn’t sure of her success. She didn’t have a lot of practice with the posture. “I’ve already unpacked my things and we seem to get along well enough. We both could use the company. I could go into Skagway and open a restaurant or some such to make a living, but…” She looked out the open door. “I’d so miss Mother Nature’s bounty. I know I’ve only been here two days, but I find the fresh air and solitude most refreshing.”
The reverence in Clara’s tone caused Callie to fidget.
“I promise you that I won’t get in the way of your work. I’m more than capable of keeping home and hearth if that’s all you need of me.” Clara leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table as she caught and stared earnestly into Callie’s eyes. “And if you want more, I can do that too. As I told Jasper in my letter, I’d love to learn how to run traplines or hunt and fish. I’m not a shrinking violet!”
“Didn’t say you were,” Callie grumbled at her plate.
“I know.” Clara held up her hands, palms out in concession. “I didn’t mean that. I just…” She sighed, eyes once more drawn to the wilderness outside the cabin. “I’ve dreamed about this ever since I saw Jasper’s advertisement. I’ve never wanted anything so badly. I don’t want to lose it before I can hold it in my hand.”
They sat in silence for some time. Clara eventually returned to her meal, woodenly feeding herself. She hea
rd Callie’s fork scrape and rattle against her plate. If Callie insisted on sending her away, Clara had to figure out what to do next. Perhaps she could check in with the assayer’s office. Callie owned land through inheritance. Clara was sure it was legal to put in her own claim, else why would those masculine women have come here? If claiming land truly was available for a woman, she only had a few short months to put in a garden, build a shelter, dig a well. The long list of things to do for a homestead seemed daunting. Chances were good Clara would have to wait until next spring before her home would be habitable. Obdurate, she refused to consider failure as she straightened in her chair. So be it. Even if it takes me ten years or more I’ll have a homestead here.
“You can stay.”
Clara gasped aloud.
“You’re right. Jasper wanted you here.” Callie shrugged, a sheepish expression upon her face. “I can’t say the same, but I agreed to it before he wrote you. It’s as much my fault you made the trip. It’s only right you have a place here.”
“Really?” Clara’s voice barely broke a whisper.
Callie sighed and reached across the table. When she had Clara’s hand in her own, she squeezed it. “Yes, really. I know I haven’t done much welcoming, but I’ve spent the last day or two enjoying the fruits of your labors. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in forever.” She released Clara’s hand to gesture at the cabin interior. “And this place ain’t been this clean in the seven years I’ve lived here.” She smiled. “Let’s take it a little at a time, all right?”
“Yes. Yes!” Clara felt tears spring to her eyes and she clapped her hands over her mouth, heart bursting. “Thank you! Thank you so much! You won’t regret this, I promise.”
Callie’s grin was bashful. “Well, you might.”
“Never!” Unable to help herself, Clara jumped up and rushed to the other side of the table, startling Callie with an embrace. She felt Callie’s slender strength as she hugged her. After several breathless moments, Callie returned the gesture, uneasily patting Clara’s back.
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