Sipping his coffee, he gazed out at the stovepipes sticking through hundreds of tents. "My primary competitor is a man named Nose O'Malley. He and I have gotten into it enough times that it seems prudent to put some distance between us. So I've decided to winter over in Dawson City."
The news pleased Zoe, who was beginning to realize she would be stuck in Dawson for the winter. It would be nice to have a friendly face nearby. She glanced at him and then looked down at her cup. "It's funny how things work out. I never thought you'd leave Newcastle. I figured you'd stay in the mines like your pa."
"I always knew you'd leave," he said in a soft voice, keeping his gaze on the tent city. "I knew fate had something special in mind for Zoe Wilder."
His comment flattered and saddened her. "It didn't work out that way."
"You're being too modest. One day you're going to tell your grandchildren that you were part of the great Klondike gold rush." Green eyes sparkled down at her. "Not many women will be able to say that."
The comment made her feel a little better. "Tom? I'm glad we ran into each other again."
"So am I."
For a long moment they studied each other, acquainting themselves with the man and woman they had grown into. Zoe saw a confident man with an inner stillness that she didn't recall him possessing as a boy. Stubbornness defined his jawline, and she saw determination in his brow. She liked what she saw. And part of her hoped that Tom liked whatever he saw in her.
Then she spotted Juliette and Ben Dare winding a path through the tents toward the pink ribbon that identified their site. Zoe blinked; she could not believe her eyes. They were walking arm in arm as if enjoying a leisurely Sunday stroll.
Immediately her confidence plummeted, and so did her mood. She rubbed her eyes, and looked again. There was no mistake.
Something had to be very wrong with her. Every inch of her body ached and was beginning to stiffen in the cold air. She was so exhausted she felt like weeping over the prospect of setting up their tent. She didn't have an ounce of energy left.
Yet Clara was bouncing around as if she could hike another five miles, like she wished they didn't have to stop and wait for their goods to catch up. And here came Juliette, chatting and smiling and strolling along as if she hadn't just fought her way through clutching trees and roots and nine miles of steep rocky ground that left even the pack animals heaving for breath.
Maybe Zoe should rethink this journey.
She had supposed herself to be best suited for an arduous journey, but she was proving to be the weakest of the three, a fact that utterly astonished and humiliated her.
"Good evening, Mr. Price." Juliette nodded to Zoe, then released Ben's arm, lifted the pot lid, and glanced at the stew bubbling atop the camp stove. "Where is our tent?"
Zoe decided if Juliette invited Tom and Benjamin to share supper with them, if Juliette had the energy to set up a social evening, then Zoe would take it as a sign from above. She would hand Clara her Winchester and show her how to kill Jean Jacques. Then she would return to Dyea and forget about Dawson City.
But Juliette didn't mention supper. She waved to Clara, who appeared leading two of Tom's Chilkat Indians. "The tent has arrived," Clara called.
Juliette made a fluttery movement with her hands and gave Tom and Ben Dare a roll of her eyes. "I guess we'll get better at putting up our tent… It just takes so long."
To Zoe, Juliette's blatant manipulation appeared obvious, but neither of the men seemed to notice. They knelt beside the boxes the Indians unloaded and assured Juliette they would have the tent up in no time.
Now Juliette would gush, thank them, and invite them to supper. Then Zoe would find the Winchester and give it to Clara. But Juliette didn't gush a single word. She glided around the boxes, finding and setting up the camp cots, pulling blankets out and shaking them open. She moved slowly, gracefully. If Zoe hadn't known better, she might have guessed that Juliette had spent the day in idle repose.
Clara caught Juliette's eye, nodded to the stew pot and then to the men before she raised a questioning eyebrow. Like Zoe, Clara looked to Juliette to lead them in the social graces, such as extending invitations.
Juliette returned Clara's long look, but she said nothing to the men about supper even after they had the tent erected and secured and both of them glanced expectantly at the stew pot. Tom even mentioned how good the steam smelled.
Zoe couldn't wait another minute. Now that the tent was up and the cots unfolded, she was going to collapse. Groaning, she stood, wincing in pain and hating that she was the only one of them with sore muscles. She said good night to Tom and Ben, and limped toward the tent, leaving Clara and Juliette to properly thank them. Somewhere in the boxes of goods was a medical pack and some liniment, but she was too whipped to look for it.
Falling into her cot, she stared at the ceiling of the tent and decided she really and truly detested Clara and Juliette.
Then the flap flew backward and Juliette staggered inside. "Lordy, lordy, I thought they would never leave!" She dropped on her cot like a rock. "I'm dying. My back hurts, my legs hurt, I hurt everywhere." A long moan blew against her pillow. "I won't be able to walk tomorrow, or move. I'm so sore, I could just cry, except I don't have the energy for tears. If you want to shoot someone, shoot me. You'd be doing me a favor."
Zoe heaved up on one elbow and stared. "You weren't even wincing when you came strolling in here! You set up the cots like you weren't even tired!"
Juliette lay facedown, her arms dangling off the sides of the cot. She looked like she was paralyzed. "I didn't want Ben to think I was weak or unfit," she said, speaking into her pillow. "You can't imagine how hard it was."
The remark told Zoe that Juliette cared a lot about what Ben Dare thought of her. More to the point, Juliette had demonstrated an astonishing iron will and steely discipline that Zoe suspected she could not have replicated. She eased back on her cot, struggling against a grudging flash of admiration. She didn't want to admire anything about Juliette.
Clara threw back the tent flap and stepped inside. "All right. You're not going to sleep in your hats and shoes. Get yourselves undressed and I'll rub liniment on your shoulders and legs."
"I can't move," Juliette groaned.
"Why aren't you sore and aching?" The prospect of standing and stretching to get undressed made Zoe feel like weeping.
"I am. But it isn't as bad for me as for you two." Clara shrugged. "I guess running up the inn's staircase a dozen times a day strengthened my legs. Who knows? Before you get undressed, you should come outside and see the snow. It started a few minutes ago."
* * *
Chapter 10
Juliette considered the snow pretty for a scant half a day, then boots and hooves churned it into a muddy broth of offal, food scraps, and tobacco juice. Makeshift privies froze before they thawed and overflowed. The temperature edged above freezing during the day and then plummeted at night.
Already Juliette was sick to death of the constant cold and damp and wearier still of striving to be cheerful about it. "I just want to find Jean Jacques and get this over with," she said at the end of their third day in Canyon City. Earlier, ground fog had wafted through the tent city. Now it was snowing again. California had never seemed so far away.
Zoe stepped closer to the camp stove and held her hands over the rising heat. "Tom said his men will have the last of the goods moved up here by tonight. We can leave for Sheep Camp tomorrow morning."
They didn't have to make a few dozen trips to Dyea and back to move their goods, but they had to wait while Tom's Indians made the relay. On the positive side, the Indian teams could move their crates and packaged goods in three twelve-hour days, whereas the prospectors moving goods on their own backs would spend two or three weeks moving their outfits from Dyea to here.
The delay wasn't entirely wasted. Rest and a strong liniment had given Juliette's muscles an opportunity to recover. Also, the powerful astringent scent of the liniment block
ed many of the unpleasant camp odors.
Every few minutes she peered into the steady fall of snow, half hoping to see Ben, though she knew he probably hadn't yet returned from Dyea. He'd paid to be packed over the pass and then on into Dawson, but he insisted on doing some of the packing himself. Juliette supposed this saved him money, and heaven knew it must put a strain on his finances to pay Tom Price's rates. Not many of the prospectors paid to be packed. She wondered if Ben had sunk all his money into this venture.
"I've been meaning to ask—what reason did you give Mr. Dare for bursting into tears?" Zoe brushed snow off her hat and shoulders.
Clara looked up from feeding wood into the fire beneath the camp stove. "You burst into tears?"
Trust Zoe to make sure Clara knew about the incident. "I told him it was one of those days," Juliette said irritably.
Men hastily changed the subject when a woman explained odd behavior by saying it was "just one of those days." They didn't want to hear more.
"What was the real reason?" Clara asked, arching an eyebrow.
"I was tired and every muscle hurt and I absolutely didn't want to be on that trail. I was furious at Jean Jacques."
"It's about time."
"Then Mr. Dare rushed out of the trees thinking I needed help." She looked into a swirl of snowflakes. Everything was pale and colorless—the sky, the snow, the ground. "I was so angry. And so sad that I hadn't met Ben before… furious that I'd married someone who lied and took my money and then left me." She lowered her head. "We don't talk about it much. But I think about Jean Jacques a lot. I've decided that I don't like him anymore."
"You know something?" Clara looked at Juliette and Zoe. "Sometimes I still get jealous and angry when I look at you two and imagine you being with my husband. But even if Jean Jacques begged me, I wouldn't want him back. All I want is my money."
"I don't want him back, either," Zoe said firmly. "But I haven't changed my mind about shooting him," she added. "My family… He made me feel… I don't want to talk about that, but he has to pay for what he did."
"Ja, he has to pay."
For the first time Juliette conceded that she, too, had crossed a line. She didn't want Jean Jacques either. Weeks had passed since she had last performed the silly rituals she had once hoped would bring him back to her.
"He has to pay," she agreed.
"It's your turn," Zoe said, looking at her through a swirl of snowflakes.
To pass the time, they had taken turns talking about their families and growing up. Tonight, Juliette told them about losing her parents, about growing up with Aunt Kibble. Pride prompted her to mention the suitors that Aunt Kibble had disapproved of since Clara had talked about beaux and so had Zoe. She also mentioned her embroidery circle, and choir, and calling on friends and acquaintances, and serving tea at Aunt Kibble's at-home days.
"Women mend in Newcastle," Zoe said when Juliette had finished her story. "No one has time for embroidery. And every day is an at-home day since there's so much work to do."
"Why do you sound so bitter when you speak of Newcastle?"
"Weren't you listening when it was my turn? Ma works her fingers to the bone, and she still can't keep the house clean. The coal dust gets into everything. Everyone's life is tied to the mine. And always, always, everyone is listening for the whistle that signals a cave-in or gas in the shafts or a man down for some other reason. No one has much leisure in Newcastle, and the women don't pour tea for each other. If I sound bitter about Newcastle, it's because I hated growing up there."
"Your growing-up years sounded wonderful. I would have loved to have had parents like yours," Juliette said softly. "And brothers." She adored hearing about the loud raucous mealtimes in the Wilder household, with everyone laughing and shouting to be heard and being reprimanded and teasing. And she liked to hear about the rough escapades of Zoe's brothers. And how Pete had taught Zoe to shoot and Jack had taught her to fish and Cal had helped with schoolwork. The twins had protected Zoe from bullies and later from unwanted suitors. Jimmy had been the prankster.
Zoe stared at her. "You've lived the life I always wanted. You had your own bedroom and privacy, and servants to do the cooking and cleaning and washing. You aren't ashamed to tell anyone where you're from!"
"I would have traded it all for a mother like yours."
Color rose in Zoe's cheeks, and for a moment Juliette thought Zoe would cry. Astonished, she blinked and spread her hands. "Did I say something to upset you?"
"It's late. I'm going to bed."
Juliette watched her enter the tent, then turned to Clara. "What did I say?"
"I think sometimes it's harder for Zoe than for you or me." Clara frowned toward the tent flap. "We don't have to struggle with how we feel about our family. Or worry that people we love think we were foolish or stupid about Jean Jacques."
"Aunt Kibble certainly believes I was foolish and stupid."
"But your Aunt Kibble would have disapproved no matter how lengthy an engagement you had, and no matter who you chose to marry. Isn't that correct?" Clara asked shrewdly.
"It's true that Aunt Kibble never approved of my suitors," Juliette admitted slowly.
"It sounds as if your aunt didn't want you to marry and leave her. I suspect she saw you as a companion for her old age."
"Oh, my heavens."
Not once had Juliette considered that Aunt Kibble might have had selfish motives for emphasizing the flaws in Juliette's would-be beaux. Over time Juliette had accepted Aunt Kibble's inferences that no man would be interested in her—he could only be interested in her money.
Clara stood and stamped her boots to shake the snow off her skirts. "Now I've upset you."
"No," Juliette said, drawing out the word. "But you've given me some things to think about."
Aunt Kibble had used Jean Jacques as proof that a man would only be interested in Juliette's inheritance. Unfortunately Aunt Kibble had been correct about Jean Jacques Villette. But had she been correct about Robert Wright? And Forrest Braithwaite?
Chewing her lip, Juliette stared into the falling snow and thought about her only two serious suitors. She had relied on Aunt Kibble's judgment and had scorned Mr. Wright and Mr. Braithwaite, making it clear she did not welcome their attentions. In retrospect, she understood that she had acted on Aunt Kibble's recommendations, not her own inclinations.
Only when she was looking spinsterhood squarely in the face had she defied Aunt Kibble and made her own decision. And Aunt Kibble had not let her forget for one moment what a disastrous decision she had made.
Here was one more reason not to return to Linda Vista. Juliette did not doubt that her aunt cared for her, maybe loved her. But Aunt Kibble's decisions would benefit Aunt Kibble first and Juliette second.
But if she didn't return to Linda Vista, where would she go once her marriage difficulties were resolved? With all her heart she wished she could tell Ben the truth and request his advice. Most of all she wished she could forget how good it felt when his arms had closed around her and he had pressed her to his chest.
She remembered the starchy scent of his shirt and a whiff of cigar smoke. A hint of male perspiration. These scents and his arms around her cast her memory back into childhood and raised feelings of safety and comfort. And other feelings, too, that made her squirm on the camp stool and that were anything but childlike.
The so-called trail followed the Taiya River out of Canyon City and toward a cleft in the rocky walls that opened into an area someone had christened Sheep Camp. Perhaps two thousand tents crowded Sheep Camp, each marked by piles of goods mounded before the flap. A choking haze of wood smoke overhung the camp.
While waiting for Tom's Chilkats to bring up their outfits, Zoe wandered toward the river to escape the smoky camp and to watch weary men trudging back and forth along the snow-wet trail, their eyes on the ground, their backs bowed from the weight of heavy, bulky loads. Occasionally, though not often, she noticed a woman following a man, toting what she
could. Two of the women she saw carried babies bundled in their arms.
By now Zoe knew that she wasn't with child. But the possibility of pregnancy had kept her awake nights after learning about Clara and Juliette. Thank heaven she didn't have the complication of an infant to add to the disaster wrought by Jean Jacques Villette.
"A penny for your thoughts…"
When she looked up from the rock where she was sitting, she saw Tom Price seated atop a roan gelding, his arms crossed on the pommel as if he'd been watching her for a while.
"Have you ever killed a man?" she asked abruptly.
Surprise lifted his eyebrows and then his smile hardened. "I've busted up a few, but I haven't killed one yet. Why do you ask?"
"I just wondered." She turned her head toward a field of rocks poking through wind-drifted snow. The snow had stopped falling earlier in the morning, leaving the world brushed in strokes of white and gray. The river resembled molten slate rushing to reach the sea, reflecting the gray sky overhead. Gray stones scarred the snowy landscape. Even the men trudging past seemed gray today, gray-clad, gray-faced. The reddish sheen of Tom's horse struck Zoe as a jolting splash of color in an otherwise drab landscape.
"There's something I was wondering about, too."
"What would that be?" Damn, he was handsome. Occasionally Zoe caught him looking at her in a way that shot an electric spark burning down her spine. It was a narrowed speculative look that kindled fire in the depths of those green eyes. That particular look and her response troubled her greatly.
"My teams are working smoothly, everything's under control. It seems I have a free afternoon." The horse shifted beneath him, and his body moved as if part of the animal. "I wondered if you'd like to join me for a picnic up near the glaciers."
Men didn't picnic by themselves, so inviting her wasn't a last-minute impulse. He'd planned this, had packed a lunch.
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