* * *
The evening was more magical than any Clara could recall ever having experienced before. She had attended both the ballet and opera in Boston, had seen any number of plays with Emma at her side, but nothing quite compared to the earthy humor she’d been exposed to tonight. The perfect capper was sharing a bag of peanuts with Callie as they enjoyed the show, shoulders rubbing as they listened to the commentary of their fellow spectators or laughed at the antics onstage. Callie had laughed more often than Clara had seen from her in the two weeks of their acquaintance.
Skagway had yet to build a concert hall so the talent show took place in an alleyway between two buildings. Sheets had been strung up and painted as a backdrop and a rudimentary stage had been built for the occasion. Benches and chairs had been procured from nearby establishments, and Clara shared a bench with Callie in the second row. The acts that crossed the stage varied from the newly arrived and celebrated piano player with his rendition of Chopin to a trio of saloon girls wearing sequins and net stockings as they pranced about the impromptu platform. Aghast and awed at this latter act, Clara spent most of it with her hands covering her mouth as she blushed. At least I’m not the only one, she thought, taking into account the deep red of Callie’s cheeks.
The crowd was equally as rowdy as those plying their stagecraft. Wolf whistles and thunderous applause met even the most lubberly of acts. Clara had been impressed to discover not only miners and their ilk in the audience but the upper crust as well. The town fathers were in full attendance as were their wives. Until now, Clara hadn’t realized the number of well-to-do women that resided in Skagway. There were far more than she’d thought, convinced that they would want nothing to do with the wild frontiers of a mining boom town. Being an unwed woman—a mail-order bride promised to a deceased trapper—didn’t do her any favors as far as the good opinions of those in high society, but she felt a little more comfortable knowing there were others of her social standing in town.
Intermission arrived and the audience stood and stretched. Lanterns were lit on the stage to counteract nightfall. Clara looked up at the sky with the sudden realization that the sun was setting. “My! It’s past our bedtime.”
Callie nodded. “Yep.” She muffled a yawn. “Do you want to stay longer…?”
Clara hooked her arm through Callie’s as she pulled them both to their feet as she stood. “No, unless you do?” At Callie’s negative shake of her head, Clara hugged her arm. “Let’s get some sleep. We’ll need an early start tomorrow.”
“Why?” Callie walked them away from the audience and out into the street, their abandoned bench seats immediately taken by a fat man dressed in sweaty furs. Callie steered them sideways to avoid a horse and cart that trundled past, dust kicking up from the animal’s hooves.
“I want to stop at the general store on the way out of town. And you wanted to check the hardware store, remember?” Clara strolled along beside Callie, intent on tomorrow’s list of tasks. “Axe handles.”
“And eggs.”
Clara shared a smile with Callie. “And eggs. Lots of eggs. And rose water, a bolt of that exquisite material they had on display, two new pie tins and a rifle for me.”
Callie patted Clara’s hand on her arm. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! All that? Why not just buy out the store?”
“Because I don’t need the store, silly.” Clara stuck her tongue out at Callie, enjoying the startled chuckle. It had taken a bit of work to jolly Callie out of her worries, but the results had been wonderful. It was nice to see the fun-loving side of Callie, the tip of the prankster iceberg that Daryl McKenzie had mentioned two days previous. Callie’s grief over Jasper would be a pall over her spirit for months and years yet, but at least the healing had finally begun.
“Well, lookee lookee here! It’s Callie Glass, boys!”
Clara gasped at the three men in their way. The central man, the one who had spoken, seemed a prissy fellow with a forked beard and delicate features. He looked vaguely familiar to Clara but she couldn’t place him. Flanking him were two pugnacious blokes bristling with agitation. A cloud of alcohol fumes enveloped the lot of them, making her nose wrinkle.
“I’m surprised to see you in town, Callie,” the effeminate man said. He made a show of looking her all over. “I don’t see a rifle. Guess you’re not planning on shooting at me again.”
Shoot at him? Again? Clara glanced back and forth between the oily little man and Callie, amazed to see sheer hatred in her friend’s face. “You shot at him?”
“He’d be dead if I had. He was trespassing on my property,” Callie growled. “I’ll do it again if he tries it a second time, only this time I won’t aim at the ground.”
“And look at you with a woman on your arm.” The man wiggled his eyebrows, his tone suggestive. “I hear your husband-to-be met his end. Guess you didn’t want a real man even after my generous offer.”
Ice washed over Clara as her memory cleared. This was the man who’d been rude to her on the day of her arrival, accusing her of being a tom—whatever that was.
“Shut your hole!” Callie slid out of Clara’s grasp, and stepped forward. “You don’t talk to her, Perkins, you got it?”
Perkins masterfully held back a flinch, though Clara saw a faint twitch around his eyes. He matched Callie’s hostile stare. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll wipe the ground with you again. I’ve done it before; I can do it at will. I don’t need a rifle.”
Clara gaped, mouth open. In the past couple of weeks, she’d seen Callie gruff, depressed, confused and exasperated. These past few hours had added satisfaction, pleasure and even a bit of happiness to the list. But Clara had never seen this hot fury before.
She studied the men, the animosity between Callie and Perkins flaring. The two roustabouts seemed to swell as they leaned forward, much like rabid dogs on leashes, ready to attack on their master’s order. In that instance, Clara knew things would not go well, that even if Callie had the ability to defend herself against Perkins, he was not a man to allow a woman to win in a fight. He’d fight dirty or not at all, especially against someone of whom he was secretly afraid. In the course of the last few months Clara had been nervous and excited about her adventure, worried over packing lists and whether or not her future husband would be acceptable to her and she to him. This was the first time that she felt outright fear.
She tugged on Callie’s arm. “Let it go. We don’t need this.” Brief relief caused her knees to shake as Callie glanced aside at her. If I can just get her away from them.
“Back off, woman. This isn’t about you.” Perkins brushed Clara’s hands away from Callie.
Callie’s growl was full of fury as she forcefully shoved Perkins backward. “Don’t. Touch. Her.”
He bounced against his two burly companions, quickly rebounding to shove her back. The brunt of it pushed Callie back a couple of steps. Before Clara could intervene, Callie launched herself at Perkins and they both went down into the dusty street.
The abrupt violence stunned Clara. She stood for untold moments as they scuffled. Perkins grunted as he hit Callie; she howled with anger as she returned his punches. Blood spattered the dry ground, not enough to dampen the rising cloud of dust, but enough to frighten Clara with its crimson contrast against Callie’s pale skin.
When Clara finally found her voice, she turned to the growing audience. “Help! Stop them! He’ll kill her!” Her pleas were met not by assistance but by the boisterous cheers of unpolished miners as they wagered on the outcome, swapping money and gold between hands. Clara searched for anyone to assist, flitting around the circle of spectators as she tugged and begged ineffectually. No one was inclined to stop the fight. There was only one thing left for her to do. She interceded herself, knowing she’d suffer the same violent fate as Callie, but she couldn’t leave her friend to these rabid dogs.
Callie was on the ground, her face a mass of bruises and blood. Perkins straddled her, gleefully hitting her again and again.
“Stop it!” Clara tackled him, knocking him over into the dirt. “Leave her be, you big bully!” One of his companions intercepted her before she could get in a swing, pulling her up and away from Perkins’s prone form.
Perkins laughed through split lips. “Aren’t you the little tomcat?” He struggled to his feet, then leaned over with his hands on his knees as he spit blood onto the ground. Around them the crowd shouted congratulations or demanded more. Perkins raised his hand to acknowledge the crowd, straightening with an almost audible creak. “Once I kill your little bed warmer, I think you should come with me and my friends. A long night with us and you’ll forget about this little bitch.” He squeezed his crotch.
Horrified at his crude language and behavior, Clara sagged in his companion’s arms, unable to comprehend the level of depravity to which Perkins alluded. Icy terror filled her veins as she searched for help, no longer seeing a crowd of rough men. Instead she saw slavering animals, yelling for her blood.
“Let her go,” a man said.
Perkins whirled. The crowd parted and allowed three men into the impromptu arena. One of them was Daryl McKenzie, and all three were armed.
Clara had never been so happy to see anyone in her life. She thought for sure she’d drop to her knees when her captor released her.
McKenzie brought the rifle to his shoulder. “You heard the man. Let her go.”
The crowd had quieted, though they were by no means silent. They whispered as they drifted back, no one wanting to stand behind the man holding Clara. New bets were made on the likelihood of someone else dying this evening.
Perkins winced as he grinned. With a wave, he ordered Clara’s release.
She indeed dropped to the ground, her knees unable to hold her weight. Crawling forward, she reached Callie’s side, more concerned with her injured friend than the tableau around her. The relief at seeing Callie’s chest rise and fall almost caused her to swoon, and darkness teased the edges of her vision.
“All right! Fun’s over,” one of McKenzie’s companions called. “Get moving.”
Disgruntled by the interruption of their entertainment, the crowd began to dissipate.
“And you stay away from these women if you know what’s good for you.” McKenzie lowered his rifle though it remained pointed at Perkins.
“Sure, old man. You keep telling yourself that.” Perkins grunted as he bent over for his hat. He slapped dust off it before planting it on his narrow head. He grinned down at Clara, a hand on the brim in politeness. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.” He sidled off with a chuckle, his cohorts with him.
“Are you all right?” McKenzie knelt on the other side of Callie’s unconscious form.
“Fine,” Clara ground out. Now wasn’t the time to faint or dissolve into tears. Callie was safe from more reprisals, but needed medical attention and recuperation. Clara could break down later. “He pushed me away from Callie and she attacked him.” She leaned over Callie, and stroked the bruised and bloodied face, her brow tightening with worry. “She needs a doctor.”
McKenzie looked up at his companions with a nod. One said he’d fetch the town physician, and the other ran off for a stretcher. By now the rowdy men had disappeared, replaced by concerned citizens who helped block pedestrians and horses from trampling Callie and the people around her. The sound of piano and fiddle music started up at a nearby saloon, along with the raucous cheer of its patrons.
“You said you were going to get a hotel, yeah?”
Clara gently stroked Callie’s hand, unable to look away from her wounded face. “We have a suite at the Golden North.”
“We’ll get you to your room.” McKenzie stood at the arrival of a hastily lashed together stretcher. “The doctor will see her there.”
In no time Callie was bundled onto it. McKenzie and another man hauled her toward the hotel, and Clara hovered beside her the entire way.
Chapter Twelve
The darkness was swept with aches and pains—nothing solid, just the amorphous sensation of discomfort, making escape into deep slumber an impossibility. The scent of a woman’s perfume, the familiar smell of lilacs soothed her. She heard the sound of trickling water and felt coolness across her brow. The pleasant touch accentuated the aches, the pain more pronounced, yet she yearned for more.
Someone, two men, murmured in the near distance. A door opened and closed, the sound muffled by Morpheus’s cotton in her head and ears. She heard the scrape of boots on a wooden floor drawing near.
“Thank you.” A woman’s voice, the woman of the lilacs.
“You’re welcome.” A man, a familiar one, not…him.
“Do you mind telling me what is going on? I know today wasn’t the first day these two have met up. He said she’d shot at him.”
Shot at him. The words echoed in the darkness, seemingly unable to latch onto anything of import. Shot at him. Shot at whom? Him?
“Well, I don’t know nothing about that, but there’s been bad blood between her and Perkins from the beginning.”
Perkins. An image flickered in the darkness. Narrow face, brown eyes, a scraggly chin beard that dripped down into two forks. A sense of loathing chased away the darkness, pursuing the soothing comfort of lilacs and coolness.
The man spoke. “He’s been in town almost as long as Callie has. Worked at a saloon for a bit. Not sure what he’s doing these days.” Rustling clothes, the creak of wood. “Anyway, he said something to her years ago and she whipped his a—pardon—his butt all over tarnation. He’s had it out for her ever since.”
Satisfaction swelled as she recollected beating Perkins into the ground all those years ago. Wasn’t there something today? A frown twitched her lips accompanied by a sharp twinge of pain around her mouth, an unnatural stiffness in one cheek. Ow.
The woman spoke again in a tone that hinted at frustration. “I’ll concede there’s bad blood there, but why now? Why tonight?”
Clara. Hazel eyes, smooth milky skin, lilacs, full lips just made for kissing. She swallowed and sighed, feeling a curious restriction around her ribs. Something was wrapped there, tight as could be. The darkness faded as she listened to the conversation. Flickering lights hovered on the edge of her perception.
“Jasper’s gone.”
Her world crashed as the weight of loss suffocated her. The sound of it was the roar of an angry grizzly bear. Jasper’s gone. How could I forget?
“Perkins hated Callie, but he feared Jasper. She didn’t know it, but Jasper confronted Perkins a few days after their fight. Told him he’d kill him if he laid a finger on his sister again.”
I had no idea. Such an action would have been just like her brother though. He’d have done what he could to protect her without letting her in on the secret, allowing her to believe she’d taken care of herself without his help. How many others had heard about Jasper’s threat and been warned off? Have I ever been able to protect myself? Has it always been the fear of Jasper’s reprisals that kept me safe?
Cool fingers removed the cloth from her forehead. The bed shifted beneath her and she heard the trickle of water before it was replaced. Longing filled her soul, desire for something that could never be. Life would be so much easier if God had created her as a boy. She’d have been a fine man, able to protect and provide for a wife and children. But this? This half-life was all that was left for her now that Jasper was dead.
“Whatever the past, they’ve had a confrontation recently. You said Callie hasn’t been in town but once since Jasper’s death. She said she shot at Perkins because he was trespassing.”
The man—Daryl—sighed. His chair creaked again as he shifted in it. “Damned if I know, pardon-my-language. I haven’t heard a thing about it.” He paused. “Maybe he’s interested in the property now that Jasper’s gone. He’s always been a no-account townie, but his hatred for the Glasses would be fuel enough for him to do whatever he could to destroy her. Driving her off her land would be a start.”
“That ain’t go
nna happen.” Callie peered out of one eye, unable to open both of them. Her voice seemed rusty and she cleared her throat. It felt rough like she’d swallowed a mouthful of arid sand, and she coughed, clutching her abdomen as shards of agony shot through her.
Her words brought on a flurry of activity from Clara who sat on the bed beside her. “Callie, you’re awake! Thank goodness!” She removed the wet hand towel from Callie’s forehead, hazel eyes dark with concern, one hand caressing Callie’s temple. “I was so worried.”
As much as she enjoyed the solicitousness, Callie batted Clara’s hands away. She attempted to sit up and groaned at another stab of fire through her chest.
“Careful! You have two cracked ribs.” Clara helped Callie sit up, undeterred by Callie’s surliness. She offered her a glass of water from the side table.
Thankful and trying not to show it, Callie took the water and sated the dryness in her throat. As she drank she took note of her injuries. Cracked ribs, one eye swollen near to closing, the sting of cuts on her face. She used her tongue to explore her mouth and found the taste of copper where her teeth had cut the inside of her lips and cheeks. It seemed Jamie Perkins had indeed gotten the best of her. She looked at McKenzie sitting on the edge of a chair. “How’d he look?”
“Like he’d tangled with a wildcat.” McKenzie grinned but his eyes reflected concern. “You got in a few good licks before he knocked you out.”
Callie winced at the complaint from her ribs. “I reckon so.” She tentatively rubbed her face, fingers finding neat stitches along one of the cuts. Her knuckles were split and bruised. “I’m guessing the doctor has been by?” She flexed her hands, gauging the damage. At least she hadn’t broken a knuckle.
“He just left.” Clara retrieved the glass from Callie and stood, crossing the room to pour another from the pitcher on the armoire. “He gave me some medicine to help with the pain. I’ll make you some.”
Alaskan Bride Page 12