I do, I do, I do

by Maggie Osborne

  At the mention of Jean Jacques's lips, they all fell silent, remembering feverish kisses on sweat-dampened skin. And all three were bitterly aware that the others shared identical memories.

  Zoe decided she had never hated anyone or anything as much as she detested the two women staring at her across her inadequately furnished sitting room. Logic informed her it was not their fault that Jean Jacques was a lying, thieving, womanizing son of a bitch. But her heart insisted otherwise.

  Jumping up, she crossed the room and gripped the doorknob. "I want you to leave. Right now."

  She desperately needed to crawl into bed and wash his scent out of her pillow with her tears. And then, when no more tears would flow, she needed to put herself through the miserable ordeal of reviewing his every word and action, and fully consider the extent of the worst disaster in her life.

  Juliette pulled back in disapproval, twitching her lips. After glancing about, she carefully set her cup and saucer on the floor, then rose gracefully and smoothed down her skirts as if dusting Zoe's rudeness off her person.

  Clara also stood, appearing more disappointed than offended. "We know how you feel. We—"

  "You don't know me, and you don't know how I feel! I can hardly bear to look at the two of you! I don't know how you can stand each other." Aware that the walls were thin and she had shouted, Zoe forced her shaking voice lower. "You've had your say, you've ruined my life, now get out! I don't ever want to see either of you again!"

  "Thank you for the coffee," Juliette said in a flat tone as she brushed past Zoe and into the corridor.

  Clara paused. "We didn't discuss what we're going to do."

  Zoe stared. "There is no we. You can fall off the edge of the world for all I care! I hope you do." She slammed her door, no longer minding what the other tenants would think. Shaking with pain and fury, she collected the cups and saucers and threw them out the open window, leaning from the sill to watch the porcelain shatter two stories below. Then, flying through her two rooms, she collected Jean Jacques's handkerchief, his cuff link, the book of poetry, and the dried flowers from her wedding bouquet, and she flung those items out the window, too. She would have sent her wedding ring sailing after the rest if her fingers hadn't swollen in the heat and humidity.

  Cursing under her breath, she twisted and tugged at the offending ring, then gave up and burst into deep shuddering sobs. Sinking to her knees before the window, she covered her face and rocked back and forth, hot tears scalding her eyes and cheeks.

  She had loved him. But she'd loved a person who didn't really exist. He'd only been a mirror reflecting her dreams.

  When the tears and self-flagellation passed, and after she had remembered and considered all that she could endure to remember and consider, the light had faded and Zoe sat on the floor in shadow. But anger directed her toward decisions that needed to be made.

  She knew she ought to go home to Newcastle and confess how she had been wronged and let her father and brothers find Jean Jacques. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that her pa and her brothers would avenge her honor. They would beat the living hell out of Jean Jacques, maybe kill him, and it would serve the bastard right.

  But three things stopped her from seeking comfort in the bosom of her family. First, the company did not grant time off unless a man had broken bones. If her father or brothers went to the Yukon in search of Jean Jacques, they would lose their jobs at the mines. Zoe couldn't let that disaster happen on top of everything else. Second, she had her pride. Eventually she'd have to tell Ma and the others how dumb and foolish she had been. But it didn't have to happen yet. Third, she didn't deserve her family's support, not after she'd betrayed them in her mind.

  No, if she was to have retribution, she'd have to see to it herself. She would be the one traveling to the Yukon.

  Near daybreak she understood that she'd made yet another mistake by sending the other wives away with a hearty good riddance. If they also intended to seek Jean Jacques in the Klondike, then it would be smarter and more efficient to travel together. They could take one set of cooking utensils instead of three. One clothes iron, one curling iron. One tent to share.

  Zoe desperately needed to do something smart to salvage a fraction of her self-esteem and feel worthy of Ma's faith.

  A deep sob gurgled up from her despair, and she fell back on the floor, staring at a stain on the ceiling just visible in the predawn light. Admitting to Ma that she'd been played for a sucker would be the hardest thing she ever did.

  It seemed to Juliette that she'd done nothing for months but wring her hands and search for guidance. First she had looked to Aunt Kibble for answers, then she had transferred her hopes to Clara. For a few minutes yesterday she had believed Zoe Wilder would know what to do.

  Looking to others to make her decisions disgusted her. She had gotten herself to Clara's inn on the Oregon coast, hadn't she? And then to Seattle. True, she had been fearful every step of the way, dreading the new experiences sure to fall in her direction. And rightly so. Thus far, nothing good had come from this painful journey.

  So. What should she do now?

  No matter what the answer was, she knew she would hate it. There were no comfortable answers in this situation.

  "At least we know where he is," she stated glumly after the waiter had removed her breakfast plate. "I suppose we've achieved our objective."

  "I haven't. My objective was and is to get my money."

  She and Clara sat back to back at separate tables in the hotel's dining room. They had stepped out the door of Zoe's boardinghouse yesterday, taken a hard look at each other, then marched off in different directions. There was no point trying to be polite about it. Juliette loathed Clara and Clara loathed her. They both loathed Zoe.

  She took a sip of coffee, extending her little finger. "How do you intend to get your money?" she asked, gazing across the dining room.

  From behind her, she heard Clara sigh. "He has to return to Seattle sometime. I'll wait here and meet every ship that returns from Alaska."

  She could do the same thing. She had no other pressing business. Heaven knew she wasn't ready to return to Linda Vista, face Aunt Kibble, and confess the truth.

  "Well, glory be, look who's come calling!" She couldn't believe her eyes.

  Zoe Wilder stood in the doorway scanning the hotel dining room until she spotted Juliette staring back at her. Then, grim-lipped and determined, she stepped forward.

  Clara swiveled in her chair to look. "She's very pretty."

  Indeed she was, Juliette thought, feeling a sharp bite of jealousy. A crisp straw hat trimmed with cloth daisies held Zoe's abundant black hair in place. She wore a snowy summer shirtwaist with a black ribbon at the throat and a dark skirt that appeared freshly brushed and ironed. Her snapping blue eyes were not as soulful or melting as Juliette's nor was her skin as glowing and fine as Clara's, but many heads turned to follow her progress.

  Before a waiter could rush to assist her, Zoe pulled out a chair at Juliette's table. "Clara, come over here."

  "If you want to speak to me, the two of you can come to my table."

  Zoe's eyes narrowed, and she muttered something about being childish, then she motioned Juliette to her feet and they moved to Clara's table.

  Juliette detested Clara's triumphant smile. She caught the waiter's eye and ordered fresh coffee for the three of them and then fixed a look on Clara. "Since we're at your table, you'll be charged for the coffee," she mentioned in a steely sweet voice. "I'm sure you won't mind since sitting here is your demand."

  Clara ignored her, turning to Zoe. "This is certainly a surprise. I believe you said you couldn't stand us and never wanted to see us again. Correct me if I'm mistaken, but didn't you shout this as you were ordering us out of your rooms?"

  "And I meant every word. I think we can agree that we hate each other and with good reason," Zoe stated in a businesslike tone. "But hating each other needn't prevent us from doing the smart thing." She nodded to the waiter
as he placed a cup and saucer before her, then watched Juliette take a sip. She, too, extended her little finger, then made a sound of disgust and set her cup back in the saucer with a hard rattle.

  Juliette watched with interest. Zoe Wilder was not a lady and never would be, nor was Clara. Jean Jacques had made only one marriage worthy of him. "And what do you consider the smart thing?" she inquired.

  "Most outfits run between eight hundred and a thousand pounds," Zoe explained, leaning forward and looking back and forth between them. "If we travel as a common party, we can eliminate duplications. That will bring down the poundage and make moving our goods more manageable. But we can't omit anything essential because we could get stuck up there. That's possible, even likely, since we're leaving very late in the year."

  Juliette stared, feeling the start of a headache behind her eyes. "What in the name of heaven are you talking about?" She knew as sure as she was sitting here that she was going to despise the answer.

  Clara frowned as understanding dawned. "I take it you're suggesting that we all go to Alaska?"

  Surprise lifted Zoe's eyebrows. "Isn't that what you intended to do? You said you were going to find Jean Jacques."

  Clara stared into space for a moment, then slowly nodded. "Ja. That's exactly what I intend to do."

  "It is not," Juliette objected. "You were going to wait here for my—for our—" She threw up her hands. "For Jean Jacques to return to Seattle."

  "This is a better plan." Clara stared at her.

  The air rushed out of Juliette's chest, and she thought her heart would pound right through her rib cage. "Me? Us? Travel to the Yukon?" She gasped. She couldn't believe they were serious. "Do decent women go to the gold fields?"

  "More do than you might suppose," Zoe answered. "It's not common for women to join the stampeders, but it isn't rare, either." Her gaze traveled over Juliette in critical appraisal. "Frankly, I don't think you should go. Clara looks strong enough to withstand the rigors of the journey, and I've worked hard all my life. But you don't appear fit or strong enough to undertake a difficult and demanding trek."

  Juliette reared back in her chair, a burst of anger sending hot streaks across her cheeks. "If the two of you can go to the Yukon, then so can I!" They were not going to find her husband without her. "I'm going!" She could not believe what she was saying. Hearing the words made her feel sick to her stomach.

  "We'll camp in a tent after walking miles every day. You'll be colder than you've ever been. You'll be in danger of frostbite and you'll have to keep a lookout for bears. No one will coddle you. You'll have to do your share of the work. Does the journey still sound appealing?"

  Of course not. But who was Zoe Wilder to take such a superior tone? Or Clara Klaus, who looked at Juliette as if she had about as much substance as a lint ball.

  "Don't you worry about me! I can take care of myself!"

  Oh, my Lord. What was she doing? Instant regret nailed her to her chair. Her knees would not have supported her if she had tried to stand. All she could think was that someone else was speaking out of her mouth.

  Zoe shrugged and fished a notebook out of her purse. "This late in the summer, the waiting list for the steamers is shorter than it was, but still. We should get on the list first thing." She wrote a note, then studied Clara. "Can you be trusted to book our passage?"

  "I beg your pardon. I'm as reliable as the day is long," Clara stated angrily. "Who put you in charge?"

  "Do you know anything about Alaska or provisioning?"

  "I can learn."

  "Well, I already know!"

  "Continue, please. What else do we have to do?" Juliette asked. Her voice had risen an octave and emerged in a squeak. Her headache grew worse by the minute.

  "I'd suggest you walk up and down Seattle's steepest hills and strengthen your legs," Zoe advised, giving Juliette a look of doubt that irritated Juliette down to her marrow.

  "What else?" she snapped. If Jean Jacques could see her now he wouldn't recognize her. He wouldn't compare her eyes to shining pewter. He'd think of steel balls. And when she glared at Clara, Clara's skin wasn't beautiful as Clara had claimed Jean Jacques had said. Her skin flushed an angry scarlet that clashed with her hair. As for hair, Juliette didn't think Zoe's mass of hair looked like silk. What a ridiculous notion.

  "I'm sure my uncle Milton will sell us provisions at his cost. Nevertheless, passage and provisions aren't cheap." Zoe made a notation in her notebook. "Plus, we'll have to pay a customs charge when we cross into Canada. Can you afford to go?"

  "Can you?" Clara demanded.

  Juliette listened to the story of Zoe's reward. This time Zoe shared more details. "It must have been a substantial sum," she said at the end of the tale.

  "The Van Hootens are among the wealthiest families in King County, and Mr. Van Hooten was very grateful that I rescued his grandson. Plus I have a small nest egg." Zoe swallowed a sip of coffee. "But I won't have much left after this journey."

  Grudgingly, Juliette conceded it was courageous of Zoe to wade into the tide marsh and rescue the little boy. She wondered if she would have done the same thing in Zoe's place.

  For another hour they talked about what needed to be done and what they would take to the Yukon. Then Juliette excused herself and returned to her room. She clapped a damp cloth across her forehead, then dropped on the bed and stared at the ceiling with dulled eyes.

  Oh, lordy. She was going to the Yukon. The shock of it paralyzed her.

  Sun slid across the window of Wilder's Outfitting Company and reflected a sensibly clad tall woman with excitement glowing in her eyes. Clara could hardly believe it. In less than a week, she would sail to Alaska. This journey would be the most thrilling event in her entire life.

  Since her early teens she had catered to the needs of travelers on their way to strange and exotic places. San Francisco, Canada, Mexico, Missouri… But she had never been anywhere nor had she expected to go anywhere. Now everything had changed. She had observed the bustle and glory of Seattle and she would explore the mysteries of Alaska. It would be something wonderful to tell her grandchildren.

  The image in the glass sagged, and she watched her lips turn down. She would never have grandchildren because she would never have children because her husband was not really her husband after all.

  Pained by the injustice, she shifted a frown to Juliette's and Zoe's reflections. They stood behind her in the street inspecting mounds of goods, discussing methods of packing and arranging. At least that's what Zoe appeared to be doing. Juliette wrung her hands and gazed at the packs with a dazed look of confusion and disbelief.

  Clara sighed. Next to the other two Mmes Villette, she felt like a Saint Bernard plodding along beside two sleek greyhounds. In the last week she had stopped thinking of herself as merely substantial and had started thinking of herself as unbecomingly big and clunky. Secretly she wondered what her Jean Jacques had seen in her since two out of three of his wives were petite. She was the unfortunate anomaly.

  She wasn't skinny like the other two. Her hair wouldn't stay put. She preferred comfort to fashion. She'd rather scrub a staircase than pick up an embroidery hoop. She liked to grow vegetables and she liked to polish silver.

  Mostly she liked to eat a perfectly prepared and abundant meal. She was a peasant.

  Sighing again, she gazed into the reflection and watched Juliette and Zoe bend their heads over Zoe's list. After a minute she noticed a man leaning against a mound of goods and smoking a cigar on the far side of the street. He observed Juliette with narrow intent eyes, his gaze following as she paced beside Zoe.

  Clara's attention sharpened and she turned from the reflection to study him directly. Like most of the stampeders buying outfits at Wilder's, this man wore a beard, but his was new, just beginning to fill in. He wore denims with plain suspenders running over the shoulders of an open-collared shirt, had tilted his hat to shade the late August sun. He was tall and good-looking, but it was his attitude that set him ap
art from the other men in the street.

  Whereas the others had an air of frenzy and perhaps desperation about them, this man did not. He wasn't focused on his outfit to the exclusion of all else. And he was more aware of his surroundings than the others seemed to be. Certainly he was aware of Juliette. He hadn't looked away from her in several minutes.

  When Clara was certain she wasn't imagining his interest, she moved between the piles of foodstuffs and camping equipment.

  "Juliette," she said in a low voice. "There's a man across the street who's watching you like you're a dumpling and he's starving."

  Juliette did not glance up from Zoe's list. "Is he broad-shouldered and handsome? Smoking a cigar and wearing a green scarf twisted around his hatband?"

  Clara hadn't noticed the scarf until she turned sideways and shot him a suspicious look. The man smiled slightly and tipped his hat to her, then returned his attention to Juliette.

  "Do you know him?"

  "Certainly not." Juliette glared from under her hat brim. "But we keep running into him. He was in the park last week when we talked to Zoe, and I think he's staying at our hotel."

  Clara could swear she had never seen the man before, but apparently she had. "Well, he sure seems interested in you."

  "If you're implying that I've encouraged him, I assure you I have not. I am a married woman!" Juliette straightened and sniffed, her shoulders stiff with insult.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake. I didn't imply anything, I only… Just forget it!"

  Throwing up her hands in annoyance, Clara turned in a huff to walk away and crashed into the biggest man she'd ever seen.

  Huge hands steadied her. "I beg your pardon."

  "No, no. It was my fault."

  As he was easily six feet six inches tall, she had to tilt her head back to see his face. Shaggy masses of golden hair tumbled around his jawline since he carried his hat instead of wearing it. No one would have described him as handsome. His face was too lived in, and there were reminders of too many brawls in the once-broken nose and a scar that cut through one eyebrow. It was a craggy, intimidating face until he smiled, then Clara saw that some might consider him handsome after all.