Eyes downcast, Clara nodded and entered the hotel to make the arrangements. Her silent hope that there were no vacancies was dashed, and she paid for a week.
“Any luggage?” asked the jovial-looking fellow behind the desk.
Clara’s voice caught in her throat.“Yes. Outside. A trunk and four bags. My…friend…is unpacking them.”
The mirthful desk clerk smothered his hospitable smile but failed to match her somberness. “I’ll have my man bring them up to your room.” He held out a key. “You’ll find your room at the top of the stairs, third door on the right.”
Clara murmured a distracted thanks. As the clerk arranged for her bags to be delivered, she blindly examined the key in her hand, at a loss. Should she go up to her room? Should she check on Callie, see if she needed help with the bags? No, Callie wouldn’t thank her for that. Callie didn’t want her, never had.
Hot tears stung her eyes, the lump in her throat painful as she attempted to force it away. She’d masterfully kept control of herself all day, from the moment Quinn had accosted her in town this morning. Now it seemed that her control had ebbed beyond her ability to forestall her emotions.
The choice taken from her, she fled up the stairs to her room, weeping silently for the love she’d thought she’d found, the love she knew she’d lost forever.
* * *
Callie waited outside until a big Scandinavian man with bushy blond hair arrived to retrieve Clara’s luggage. The muscles of his arms popped as he picked up the trunk, hardly batting an eye as he lugged it inside. She waited until all the bags were taken and postponed her departure for several minutes. She wondered whether Clara would return to argue her point, suggest an alternative, or at least say goodbye.
She never returned.
Can’t say as I blame her. Callie pulled off her hat as she leaned against the packhorse, rubbing her burning eyes. What’s done is done. At least she’ll go on to have a long life. Maybe she’ll decide to marry after all. She’d make a great mother.
When she was sure she wouldn’t start bawling, Callie climbed onto the horse for the ride home. Barebacking wasn’t the easiest way to go, but if she wanted to make good time with nightfall coming on, she’d need to ride rather than walk.
She navigated through Skagway, avoiding the worst of the drunkards and malcontents that seemed to overrun the town when night came on. The whores hooted at her like they always did, but she ignored them, the cloud of misery around her too bitter to succumb to their innuendo. One thing did cut through her haze of wretchedness—a smug, hated voice she recognized.
“Why, Callie Glass! Did you come to town to invite me back for supper?” Billy Quinn called, his tone sly. He stood bold as could be on the side of the street.
Without thought, Callie pulled the packhorse to a halt and slid off its back. The sight of Quinn, bold as could be on the side of the street, sent her into a fury. A red haze covered her vision.
His expression faded from complacency, thumbs hooked casually into his suspenders, to fearfulness as he dropped his hands to his sides and backed up to the saloon wall at her rapid approach. “Now, wait a minute there, girl —”
Callie grabbed him by the throat with one hand, the barrel of her pistol digging into the side of his head. “Shut up.” She hardly recognized her voice; she imagined Quinn didn’t either.
Quinn frantically searched the growing audience for assistance. Other than a few exclamations from those nearby and a general scuffling as space was cleared around them, there didn’t appear to be any help on the way.
“You scum-sucking, lily-livered little bitch.” Callie pressed the pistol harder into his head. It would leave a hell of a bruise if she didn’t shoot him first. “You mucked up everything. Everything! You hear me?” When he didn’t immediately answer, she shook him.
He grunted assent, his face red as her grip on his throat tightened. Gurgling, he attempted a response, but couldn’t get the words out.
“If I ever see you or your friends anywhere on my property, I won’t hesitate to kill you. Understand?” She shook him again, ignoring his hands digging into her wrist to loosen her grip. The pain felt right and good. She didn’t want to kill him though, not yet. Against her better judgment, she loosened her hold, and he gasped for air. “I asked you a question, you bastard.”
He emitted a deep cough that sprayed Callie’s face with phlegm.
As disgusting as the sensation was, she didn’t wipe it off. Instead she pulled the hammer back on her pistol.
Quinn went very still, the whites of his eyes showing as he tried to see the gun at his temple. He swallowed, breath raspy as he focused on her. The smell of urine rose between them.
“This is your final warning, Billy Quinn, and you’ve had more than anybody else,” Callie said, her voice deceptively soft. “Step on my land and die.” When she saw that he fully comprehended her, she continued. “And that goes for Jamie Perkins and his men too.”
Quinn nodded, a jerky action that seemed almost like he was having a seizure. He shook like a leaf, his foul breath coming in asthmatic wheezes.
With care, Callie released the hammer. The light of hope sparked in Quinn’s eyes for the briefest of seconds before she brought the gun down on his temple. He crumpled to her feet, unconscious.
She stepped back and wiped his spittle from her face with a grimace. The murmur of conversation around her reminded her of where she was. She turned and saw twenty or more men watching, none familiar. Any one of them could be one of Perkins’s men. Hell, one of them could already be on his way to let the cat outta the bag. It was time to go.
The witnesses scattered as she strode to her horse and clambered once more onto his back. Clucking, she urged him down the dusty street, eyes open for any immediate retaliation as she headed out of town.
Chapter Nineteen
Cautiously, Callie unblocked her cabin door and stepped outside, rifle in hand. The yard appeared untouched. The taller vegetables in Clara’s garden waved gentle greeting in the morning wind. The bell of a steam ship on the water made Callie’s throat ache, but she swallowed the lump with pragmatism. What’s done is done. She’s safe now. I can’t hardly take care of myself let alone her too.
The night had been long. Sunset had come upon her on the way home from Skagway, making the trail perilous. The packhorse had done most the work, plodding along the familiar path with his keen sense of smell and awareness of danger. Callie had put him up in the shed as soon as they’d returned. She’d then barricaded herself in the cabin in case Perkins didn’t have the sense God gave a gnat. He hadn’t shown up to inflict any reprisals in the darkness. No doubt he gathered his resources in town. After what Callie had done to Billy Quinn, Perkins would be out for her blood. Even if Clara had to remain in town a day or two to make travel arrangements, Callie doubted Perkins would know or care.
She recalled last night’s vicious altercation, the tendons and muscles of Quinn’s throat beneath her digging fingers and his bulging eyes and red face, the flash of light on metal as she pressed the barrel of her pistol to his temple. God, how she’d wanted to shoot him! But even though Skagway was a lawless town, that didn’t mean she could kill with impunity. Eventually the government would send their enforcers to clean up the area—it was simply a matter of time—and all those witnesses would gladly point to her as a murderer.
This way is better. Perkins will come wanting blood and Clara will have escaped untouched.
Callie sighed with resignation. Should she go out on the trapline? Did it really matter? At the very least, she should get out there and clear the traps she’d set. No reason to leave animals to suffer if she’d never collect them. She glanced in the direction of her brother’s grave, wondering what strategies she should employ to protect herself and her property.
“You’re concerned he’ll have his men surround the cabin. What if we put out those bear traps?”
She stood frozen, remembering Clara’s words. At the time, Callie had been b
oth shocked and wickedly delighted that the prim and proper young woman would suggest something so dastardly, but it seemed the perfect strategy at the moment.
With a grim smile, she circled the homestead in search of hiding places that attackers could utilize, marking where she should set her traps.
* * *
“As much as I’d like to say otherwise, we ain’t got a cabin on an outgoing steamer for three more days.”
“Three days?” Clara battled despair, not willing to lower herself to hysteria in public. She stood in the office of the Pacific Coast Steamship Company, drawstring purse clutched in her gloved hands. “Can I be assured that one of those cabins will be reserved for my return trip to Seattle?”
“Oh, ayep.” The company representative shuffled through some items under the counter. He was of middle-age and clean-shaven. His dark blue suit indicated how much pride he took in his appearance. The outfit was crisply pressed and the narrow tie impeccably knotted at his throat. An emblem was sewn onto the breast, the golden thread outlining a steamship. “The City of Topeka will be through here day after next.” He extracted a large leather-bound book and opened it. “Ayep. Here we go. We have a number of berths yet available, leaving in three days for Seattle.”
“I’ll take it.”
The man raised a bushy eyebrow. “I ain’t told you the price yet.”
Clara sniffed, drawing upon years of hauteur to hurry the hated procedure along. “It shouldn’t matter. I paid for my return trip when I purchased passage here.” From her purse she retrieved the voucher she’d been given when she’d booked her initial trip in Seattle, the one her father had insisted upon as condition for not interfering in her choices. She’d hoped to keep it for its duration and burn it in celebration on the anniversary of her arrival. I never wanted to use this. The ever-present lump in her throat grew larger but she shoved it down with vicious alacrity, presenting the voucher to the representative.
He studied the document. “Everything seems in order, Miss Stapleton. I’ll book you for a double cabin.” He plucked a pen from its stand, and prepared to write her name in the register.
“Wait!” The last thing Clara needed was to share a cabin with another woman. It had been fine for her initial foray, her sense of adventure strong as she gossiped among the other passengers. But after…well, she simply didn’t have the patience to deal with another woman constantly present. She needed the solitude in which to grieve for what wouldn’t be. “I’ll pay extra for a single cabin please.”
Again the bushy eyebrow rose, but the man nodded. “Of course, miss.” He set the pen down, grabbing up paper and a pencil, licking the pencil lead as he calculated the new charges.
A quarter hour later, Clara exited the steamship company’s office with a bit less cash and feeling considerably worse. The deed was done. In three days she’d be gone from this place forever. Forever.
She took a deep breath to forestall more tears, and marched back to her hotel. Right now, Callie was probably on the trapline with the packhorse. Had she been home, Clara would have cleaned up after their breakfast and perhaps weeded the garden before checking her own traps. Did Callie have anything to eat this morning? She doesn’t take care of herself well enough, and she’s still healing. Would she have thought to eat the cornbread leftover from our last dinner?
Their last dinner.
Clara forced the tears back. She’d cried more than enough last night in her hotel room. It was time to buck up. Tears wouldn’t fix a damned thing, and crying didn’t make her feel one whit better. Instead she’d be left with an ache in her sinuses, a clogged nose and red eyes. Chin up, back straight, Clara continued along, desperately casting about in her mind for something that wouldn’t trigger a bout of sobs.
“Clara?” a man called.
Overwhelming terror froze her for the briefest of moments before she recognized the voice. It wasn’t Billy Quinn. She fought the urge to swoon in relief as she slowly turned to see Daryl McKenzie approaching from across the street. She plastered a gracious smile onto her face, and waited for him as she tried to calm her nerves.
McKenzie tipped his hat. His eyes darted about, probably searching for Callie. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Clara knew McKenzie was sharper than his curmudgeonly appearance indicated. She also knew that any attempt to prevaricate or drive him away would be met with questions she didn’t want to answer. Rather than incite a scene here on the street, she took one of his arms. “Will you be so kind as to escort me back to my hotel?”
“I’d be honored.” They walked a bit before he spoke again. “I’m amazed to see you here. I doubted Callie would be up to traveling so soon. How is she?”
How is Callie? Clara didn’t have an immediate response. How could she tell McKenzie that she’d made a supreme error in judgment that would probably send Callie on to her great reward? That she’d unwittingly betrayed the woman she loved on a lark, for no other reason than to prove herself the equal that she could never be? “Not well, I fear.”
McKenzie frowned. “What can I do to help?”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
He gave her a sidelong look. “Are you two staying in town tonight?”
Clara sniffed, more to push away the tears than to show pique. “I’m here alone.” She gestured toward the ticket office. “I was booking passage to Seattle.”
“Wait. What?” McKenzie stopped, turning to stare fully into her face. “You’re leaving?”
“She’s thrown me out.” Clara had meant to deliver the words in petulant anger. Instead they became a gateway of despair as she burst into the dreaded sobs. “She’s thrown me out, Daryl! And it’s all my fault!” She burrowed into his arms and succumbed to the tears again, the exact emotional whirlwind she’d expected. She imagined that these were Callie’s strong arms holding her close while she bawled out her fear and sorrow.
Eventually the flood ended, as all her recent dolorous weeping did, with a mixture of relief and shame as she realized she’d made a fool of herself in public despite her best efforts. She struggled with the drawstring on her purse, and located a handkerchief that she used to wipe the tears and snot from her face. “I apologize,” she murmured, voice crusty. “I don’t know what came over me.” She brushed at the tear stains on the lapels of his jacket with a helpless laugh. “I’ve made a mess of your coat.”
He lightly snagged her wrist, placing her palm against his heart and patting the back of her hand as he smiled. “It needed a good cleaning. By my estimation, it’s become less of a mess now.” He released her and crooked his arm, smiling when she slipped her hand through it.
They strolled along in silence until Clara regained full control of her faculties. It took her some time to realize that they’d passed her hotel, not that she’d had the sense to tell McKenzie where it was. He seemed unconcerned as they walked through town with no particular destination, a cozy parade of two weaving through the streets and boardwalks, past thousands of people who didn’t care.
For the first time, Clara witnessed all of Skagway, not just the parts that she’d passed on her previous visits, but also the hinterlands of this burgeoning town. In one part of Skagway, she saw corrals full of horses preparing to take on one of the two trails to the Yukon goldfields, heard the ring of hammer on anvil as furriers shod the scrawny animals. A handful of men loaded packhorses and sledges with the thousand pounds of supplies required by Canadian authorities at the Yukon boarder. Another group had already left, plodding down the trail to await their turn at the base of Chilkoot Pass. Pacific Freight wagons trundled to and fro between the mud flats and the corrals, laden with the goods that would give a man a shot at surviving the cruel winters and the even crueler will of his fellow competitors.
And here was the sour smell of unwashed humans, horse manure, and fried bacon that forced the handkerchief out of her purse and back to her nose. They strolled through what seemed like a field of tents that housed hundreds of m
en and their gear as they waited for their turn at the passes.
A pack of dogs fought over offal near a temporary butchery, their growls vicious and teeth snapping. Instead of turning her stomach, the smell of blood made Clara almost nostalgic for the Alaskan wilderness, the crunch through the bush, her traps, and conversation with Callie. She hastened away from the scene lest the sniveling begin again.
Farther on, tubs of water heated over outdoor fires as laundresses scrubbed and repaired clothes for the men, charging a penny a shirt or two pennies for trousers. One even offered boot polishing for a nominal fee—a foolish proposition considering the amount of mud and dirt on the unpaved streets. Clara doubted the boot black made much money here.
A line of men stood outside another tent, battered tin plates in hand as they waited to be served a breakfast of fried potatoes and eggs. The sign on the side of the tent indicated no menu, but offered breakfast, lunch, and dinner for twenty-five cents a head. “Bring your own plate and utensils!”
Circling back toward the established residences and businesses of Skagway, she noted boarding houses and freshly built homes, the smell of cut pine thick in the air. The sound of children’s laughter startled her, and she unconsciously took the lead in their travels as she searched for the source. Three little boys played with sticks in the dirt yard of a new home, brandishing the wood like swords as they whooped and hollered. “I had no idea there were children here.”
“There’s some. Not many though.” McKenzie nodded toward the house. “That there place belongs to a fellah who wants to open a bank here.”
“A bank?” Clara marveled. “Why, next thing you’ll tell me is that they’ll elect a sheriff or magistrate to run things.”
McKenzie laughed. “Oh, I doubt that! Not any time soon anyway. There are too many confidence men in town right now fleecing the sheep. Perhaps in a year or two.”
Clara imagined Skagway in a year or two, or even five. Seeing the evolution of the town from lawlessness to a real township would be fascinating. “I’m sorry I’ll miss it.”
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